Date Night
by Flagg1991
Summary: Lester, Lamis, Lugosi, and Ramona go on a double date. Cover by Salvo1985.
1. Before the Date

**Lamis (Lunacoln) and Lugosi (Lucycoln) both belong to Salvo1985. Lester and Ramona are mine. **

Lugosi Loud looked dour, with his black hair and perpetually tired eyes, but he was actually a chill guy...if he did say so himself. He liked playing _Call of Honor _online, pwning newfags, long walks in the woods hoping he'd stumble across a half buried treasure chest like one of those kids in _The Goonies _(cha-chiiiiiing), and writing, that last one especially. Writing _ruled_. There was nothing more satisfying than sitting down at his desk, popping a Monster, and writing _Law and Order _fanfiction while listening to Vaporwave on Spotify. He fucking _loved _police procedurals. One of his favorite shows was _Dexter _not because he was a serial killer (okay, you kill bad guys, great, so does Superman), but because he was a forensic technician, AKA one of the unsung heroes of police work. You see the SWAT guys getting commendations from the city and their pictures in the paper, but you never hear about the boys in the back - the pathologists, technicians, criminal profilers. Theirs is a thankless task, and Lugosi respected the hell of out them.

So much so that one day, he was going to join their ranks.

He was thirteen, gangly, and kind of pasty, so that would have to wait. For right now, he contented himself with writing crime stories. He started off with his own original stuff, but when he posted it on Fictionpress, no one read it. He had fifteen up (fifteen!) and, like, three reviews. His first _Homicide: Life on the Streets _fic got twenty-eight favs, thirty follows, and fifty reviews - fuck original fiction, fan fics is where it's at! The only problem was he couldn't make any money off them. He tried. The _Law and Order _fandom is surprisingly active so he figured, hey, why not open commissions? Tell me what you want, and I'll write it. Five bucks every ten thousand words.

Yeah.

That, uh, that didn't pan out. The one guy who tried to hire him wanted a fifteen thousand word Lennie Briscoe x Jack McCoy smut story full of "gay creampies in the squad room."

Uhh...I'll have to get back to you on that.

Not really.

He couldn't make money, but he was still the biggest writer in the fandom. He had nearly a hundred _Law and Order _stories under his belt running the gamut from horror to romance, and everyone knew his name. People did fan art of his stories, headcanoned his OCs, and even built a sub fandom around his AU _Law and Order: Monster Unit _series, where the gang fights (and imprisons) various fantasy and horror monsters, like Dracula. That was his highest viewed story and had the sickest plot twist ever - Munch was a vampire all along and worked against the monster unit from the inside...until Briscoe staked his ass.

Yep, he was hot shit and he knew it. Give it a few more years and he'd be writing for the show itself.

On the side, of course, since he wanted to be an actual cop and not a poser.

Anyway, it was early Friday evening and cool purple twilight pressed against the fluttering window screen. Lugosi came into the room with an armload of supplies, bumped the door closed with his hip, and dropped the stuff on his bed. A case of Monster. A couple bags of M&Ms and Almond Joy, a pack of cherry pull 'n' peel Twizzlers, and a lamb gyro from the place down the street in a Styrofoam container. Gyros were the shit. Really messy, though; you can't just eat them at your computer, but then again, he didn't eat anything at his computer. He couldn't afford a new one, so he minimized the risk of spillage where he could. He'd drink a Monster, but when it wasn't it his hand, he made sure it was waaaay on the other side of the desk.

Grabbing a can, he went over to his chair, dropped in, and popped the tab. He took a long, thirsty drink, sat it as far away as he could, and opened his laptop. Presently, he was working on an epic multi chapter fic that followed the career and personal life of all the detectives and prosecutors from the fifties to the nineties and named after a Steely Dan song. So far he was up to 1998 and so close to finally being done he could smell it. The way he saw it, he had four more chapters before he could end it, the final one taking place on September 11th as the detectives rescued people from the Twin Towers (one was going to die in the collapse, he wasn't sure which yet). It was gonna be awesome. Right now, he was on the chapter where Briscoe suffers a fatal heart attack in the squad room - Lugosi saw him sinking to his knees, clutching his chest, and shaking his fist impotently at the ceiling. _Two days from retirement! _Yes, he knew a cop dying right before retiring was a cliche, but that applied to being killed in the line of duty. This was an act of God. Totally different.

He logged into his Google Docs account and was just about to open his story when a light knock came at the door. Lugosi tensed and shifted his eyes in the direction of the offending sound. Everyone in his family knew not to bother him on Friday and Saturday nights but they still did it. Last week it was Leanne looking for the book on serial killers she lent him (and which he promptly returned on finishing), and before that it was Leah wanting advice on what she should get hers and Leanne's boyfriend Palmer McBride for his birthday. _You're a guy, so you should know. _What, are all guys the same now? Pretty sexist.

Wonder who it is _this _time.

"It's open," he called.

The knob turned and his older sister Lamis poked her head in. Fourteen with shoulder length brown hair, big, green eyes and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, Lamis was the bane of his existence. It's not that she was a bad sister...oh, no, quite the contrary, she was a great sister. A little _too _great. As in, she'd hound him for _sitting inside all day _and _oh, you need to drink something other than Monsters, they're really bad for you. _Mom didn't give a shit if he watched ISIS execution videos (which he didn't, btw) but God forbid Lamis walk through the room in time to hear someone say _ass _on TV. _*GASP* Turn that off right now. _He mentioned something about cliches earlier, get this: Lamis literally told him one time _You're going to catch your death if you don't put your coat on. _C'mon, it's only forty degrees. You act like it's the Arctic.

As irritating as she could be, he had to remind himself that blah blah because she cared blah blah. That made it a little more manageable, her not being some high riding bitch on wheels like Aunt Lori supposedly was when she was younger. Mom said they called her Hitler behind her back, then attacked and tied her up one time. _Your father tried to take over but it didn't work. _As a kid, Dad was apparently a little pushover, kek. Too bad he wasn't a kid anymore.

Where was he? Oh, yeah, Lamis's face was wedged between the door and the frame, and she looked like she wanted something. Lugosi turned back to the screen. "I'm busy. Please...don't ask me to do anything."

Her brow creased and she opened the door all the way. She wore a purple and pink plaid shirt and tight hip hugger mom jeans that she probably literally borrowed from her mom. She wore a golden peace sign medallion around her neck and...wait a sec, eye shadow? "Did you forget?"

"Forget what?" he blurted.

"About our date."

Date? Lugosi's head spun so hard it almost fell off his shoulders. The last time he checked, he and Lamis weren't an item - he was with Ramona Santiago and she, Lamis, was with their brother Lester the Child Molester. That's what Lugosi called him because he was a puffed up, pompous asshole in a dumb sweater vest who never had anything nice to say about anyone. Sixteen and still sporting that hard to lose baby fat, his face was a minefield of acne and his shoulder length dirty blonde hair was so full of grease Lugosi kept expecting John Travolta to pop out of it and start singing. _I got chiiiiills…_

Unless the universe shifted and everything got all jumbled up, he and Lamis didn't date, so...back to my fan fic. "I don't think Lester would like that," he said. He hovered the cursor over the doc and clicked it. Rank on rank of text scrolled across the screen. There were 150k words in this chapter alone, so it would take a while to load.

Lamis crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. "Turn the thumblock on your way out," Lugosi said and took a sip of his Monster.

"Our double date?" she asked. "You and Ramona and me and Lester?"

Okay, now he knew she was freebasing. There was no way in hell he'd agree to go on a double date with her and Lester. She was fine (though kind of like hanging out with his Mom) but Lester could eat a dick; Lugosi would rather hang out with a legit child molester than with his older brother. At least a pedo would be bro enough to give you a reacharound. Lester would just look at you down his nose and call you pathetic like Principal Skinner in that old meme Dad kept sharing on Facebook. "I never heard anything about a double date," Lugosi argued. "Sorry."

Lamis hanged her head and sighed. "I told Lester to tell you. Ramona and I set it up the other day at the church bake sale."

"What were you guys doing at a church bake sale?" Lugosi asked.

"What do you think? Stuffing our faces with free samples. We bumped into each other and...double date." She shrugged her shoulders casually up and down.

Lugosi nodded. "Alright, well, no, Lester didn't tell me."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head like a disappointed mother. "He's so forgetful sometimes. Well...I'm telling you now. Ramona's gonna be here in ten minutes so be ready."

Damn. Torn between his two great loves: Ramona and his epic fan fiction. For a boy of thirteen, this should really be a no brainer - choose the girl, the fan fic can wait. Lugosi wasn't normal or something and had to _really _think about it. He and Ramona had been together four months and Lugosi liked her...a lot. He'd been with his fan fic for longer, though, and really liked it as well. _Which one's gonna jack you off at the end of the night, though?_

Kek, trick question, neither. He and Ramona hadn't done anything yet aside from hold hands and kiss. He wanted to - very badly - but, despite looking badass, he was kind of timid when it came to pushing things along. Ramona was like Lamis in a way; she had a couple younger siblings and played responsible older sister a lot, so she was a little on the lame side. But in a good way!

As such, however, he didn't know how she'd react to him taking it to the next level and grabbing her tit or something. She might be all for it, or she might not be. If he took a gamble and lost, their relationship may never recover. _We've been dating four months, pervert; guess you're all about sex just like the other guys. _Such a faux pas could change her perception of him...and even if it didn't, it'd be embarrassing as hell.

"...up, okay?"

Lugosi blinked. "Huh?"

"I said hurry up, okay?"

Oh. He glanced longingly at the computer screen, then stuck out his bottom lip. "But _Reel -"_

"Your fan fic can wait," Lamis said exasperatedly. "Your girlfriend should come first."

Lugosi opened his mouth to argue, but his position was indefensible. His girlfriend _should _come first. Ramona was like...hmmm, what's a good analogy...a funky looking flower that opens up under only the right circumstances to reveal an inside so beautiful it brought tears to your eyes. She wasn't the most traditionally attractive girl, but Lugosi thought she was hot - the _funky looking _part referred to her personality. Her mom, Ronnie Anne, had a reputation as a bully when she was a kid even though she never did anything to anyone - except punch Dad in the face when he randomly kissed her, but hey, that kind of constitutes sexual assault, so he brought it on himself. Ramona, on the other hand, earned her rap ten times over. She teased everyone, bullied the weak, and talked back to the teachers with every other word. She used to go really hard on Lugosi - calling him fag because of his long hair, kicking the back of his seat in math class, passing him by in the cafeteria and slapping his tray out of his hands - but one day, on his way home, he cut across the athletic field and stumbled across her sitting on the bleachers and crying into her hands.

His first instinct was to spin around and get outta there - she struck him as the type of person who'd beat the shit out of him as punishment for seeing her in a moment of weakness (hey, don't cry in public then) - but the high, kneading sounds of her misery clawed at his heart strings. He sat down next to her and, well, long story short, they talked for a while about her problems. Her home life wasn't the best (nor, admittedly, was it the worst): Her dad was some fat slob in a wife beater named Poppa Wheelie who worked at the junkyard and drank cheap beer from the moment he got home in the evening to the moment he passed out in front of the TV, and her mom worked three jobs to support them. They were poor, lived in a rundown trailer in a cemetery of hopes and dreams masquerading as a mobile home park, and barely had a pot to piss in. Her clothes were all ratty, second hand castoffs and her cell was a legit Dollar Store Tracfone that she had only because Lugosi bought it for her birthday. He felt like shit handing her a ten dollar phone, but her face lit up with excitement and she gave him a big, grateful kiss, so...it was all good.

Sigh. Now he felt all warm and fuzzy and taking the night off from his fic didn't sound like such a bad idea.

Also...it'd be a lie to say his heart wasn't the _only _thing that was warm right now. Maybe tonight he'd try something small - a butt pat or a neck kiss, just to see how she took it. With a little luck, she might take him to second base.

Or even third.

Hot shit, fuck my fan fic.

"Getting ready now," he said and jumped to his feet.

"Alright," Lamis said, "we'll be in the living room."

The door clicked softly shut behind her and Lugosi went to his dresser. He was clad in his at home attire - dark blue basketball shorts and a white T - which functioned as going-outside attire too. This occasion called for something a little less...idk, skanky? He took his shorts off, grabbed a pair of jeans, and pulled them on. Next he rummaged around for a shirt. One habit he inherited from Lucy-mom (he called her that after a character's nickname in a book, but only to himself because it was kind of retarded) was wearing black a lot. Not because he was some lame ass emo poser like she was as a kid, but because black's a good color. It's understated, goes with anything, and, c'mon, it looks nice. He didn't know if he wanted to wear it tonight, though. Bold colors like red and blue looked weird on him, so most of his wardrobe was black, gray, white, and dark blue. Not much to choose from.

Hm.

He took out a black thermal undershirt and held it up, his lips bunching in consideration. Oh, wait a sec. He returned it and pulled out an identical garment, only this one was a deep shade of maroon. There we go. He pulled it on, snatched a pair of socks from the top drawer, and sat on the edge of his bed. He put the socks on, then his tennis shoes, then got up and returned to the dresser for a little Old Spice - the awful burning meant that it was working.

After a quick pit stop in the bathroom to gargle with Listerine, he went downstairs. Lamis sat on the couch with her legs crossed and her phone in her hand, endlessly scrolling through Facebook, and, oh yuck, Lester stood impatiently by the front window and peered through the slat in the curtains, his arms crossed tightly over his doughy chest. He looked extra dorky in a pair of tan slacks and a green sweater vest with yellow zig zags across the chest over a white button-up (where'd you get your fashion sense, buddy, Urkel?). His posture was stick-in-ass, and his lank hair was _you're the one that I want, ew ew ew. _You could practically _see _drops of grease dripping from his split ends. What Lamis saw in him, he'd never know. He suspected it was kind of a...what's it called when a girl only likes you because she thinks your pitiful ass needs love? Not pity per se, like, she was legit into him, but mainly for the baby bird effect, you know, nurturing a wounded little creature back to health.

Or maybe it was something else. He didn't know and didn't really care. It wasn't his business.

Lugosi went around the edge of the couch and dropped down next to his sister, making her lift like a wave. "Not so rough," she muttered, still scrolling, "you're gonna break the couch."

"Sorry, Mom," he said.

"Don't be smart."

Across the room, Lester snorted. "He couldn't if he tried."

See? This is why no one likes him except Lamis and, I guess, Dad and Lisa, but even Lisa called him out for being _an insufferable ass. _He said _I learned from the foremost on the subject expert_ and she grounded him for a week.

The house was so peaceful with him banished to his room.

Lugosi opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Lamis cut him off. "Lester," she said with a long suffering inflection, "that wasn't very nice."

"The truth rarely is."

Lugosi flushed. If Lester didn't outweigh him by a hundred pounds (and if Lugosi wasn't kind of weak and noodly), he'd punch him in the nose.

"Knock it off, Les," she said.

Lester grated. He hated being called Les, but wouldn't correct Lamis - she knew that, which is why she did it. She had him firmly by the balls and using his hated nickname was like an admonishing squeeze.

Lugosi couldn't let the older boy walk, though, he had pride and junk to think about. "Yeah, Les," he sad, putting a mocking twist on the final word. Lester's face turned scarlet and he looked like a steamed vegetable, only smarter. He tightened his arms sullenly around his chest and leaned to look out the window.

"Where is she? The reservations are for eight-thirty and it is…" he checked his watch "...seven-fifty-one. We're going to be late."

Lamis hummed. "The walk there takes fifteen minutes tops. Ten if you can keep up."

Part of Lamis's wannabe mom routine was harping on Lester's weight. They used to go to the YMCA every afternoon after school, but Lester "accidentally" destroyed a 1,500 dollar treadmill and they got kicked out - Lugosi was certain he did it on purpose so he'd be banned and not have to come back. Not one to be deterred, Lamis took him on 6am jogs and stayed on top of him about eating healthy. Guy couldn't even have a single M&M without her flying up his ass. He did everything she asked of him, though, and with minimal bitching too.

"I can keep up just fine," Lester said, "one just never knows what obstacles they might encounter on their way."

Lamis favored him with a blake stare. "We're going down the street for pizza. Two blocks."

"The Titanic sank in an area far less than two blocks," Lester pointed out, "anything could impede our path."

Lamis seriously meditated on his words, then frowned. "Just relax."

"Fine."

Within two minutes, he was tapping his foot on the floor. In three, he started to drum his fingers on his arm. By five, he positively thrummed with nervous energy. Lamis snorted at something on her phone and shook her head (_oh, you!_), and Lugosi stared at their watery reflections in the surface of the darkened TV screen.

"Ah, there she is," Lester said, "and moving at the speed of welfare."

A sudden fist of rage grabbed Lugosi by the throat and dragged him to his feet. "Hey, fuck you," he spat and balled his fists.

"Lugosi!" Lamis cried, shocked.

He ignored her and zeroed in on Lester's fat, pimply face; his cheeks burned with righteous indignation and his lips peeled back from his teeth in a sneer. He didn't care if people insulted him, but he wouldn't stand for anyone saying shit about Ramona. She had it hard enough as it was without dickheads like Lester making fun of her. She didn't show it, but shit like that hurt her deeply, and half the reason she was a bully, he thought, was to strike first before other people had the chance to hit _her_.

Lugosi dried too many of her tears over the past four months to take shit like this lightly. "Don't fucking talk about her like that," he snarled, "you fat piece of shit."

Lester's jaw clenched and he took a step forward like he was going to do something. Fine, fatass, let's do it. Lugosi started toward him, but Lamis snatched him by the back of his shirt. "Knock it off!" she roared. "Both of you!"

Lester came to a halt and glared at Lugosi. "He -"

"I don't care!" Lamis yelled. "You were being an asshole. Again. Every time you get in front of other people you act like this."

"It's how I am," Lester stated.

"No it's not," Lamis said, "you're sweet and caring when it's just us, but you're a jackass the rest of the time. Lay off everyone. I'm sick of it."

Panic flickered through Lester's eyes and if you looked closely enough, you could see the drawing terror of a man who realizes he's on really thin ice with the woman he loves. Lugosi drew immense satisfaction from it, and even more so when he bowed his head contritely. "I'm sorry," he said. He did not try to justify his actions, and that alone, combined with the abject tone of his voice, melted Lamis's icy features.

"I just want to have a nice night, okay?" she asked. Lugosi pulled away from her and smoothed out his shirt. Break up with his ass, he thought, that'll teach him. Instead, she brushed past him, went over, and laid her hand on his shoulder, almost like _he _was the victim. Lugosi rolled his eyes. Yeah, go coddle your little fat boy.

Lester sighed. "I apologize for my impertinence."

She flashed a wan smile and rubbed a circle between his shoulder blades. "You should really apologize to Lugosi." Her brow pinched ever so slightly and her eyes took on a threatening cast, like the sky before a thunderstorm. "That was a really nasty thing you said."

"I know," Lester moaned. He looked up at Lugosi with abject pleading. "Please accept my sincerest apologies."

When someone uses that phrase - sincerest apologies - you know they're lying. In fact, a good rule of thumb he learned from aunt Luan, the comedian turned mountain dwelling survivalist, was this: If it sounds like something a politician would say, it's a falsehood, don't believe it. Lamis was looking at him, her brown eyes big, moist, and brimming with hope. _Accept it and move on so we can have a nice evening. Please?_

Before he could say something to shatter the fragile peace between him and his brother, the doorbell rang.

You're lucky Ramona's here, dick, otherwise I'd call you another mean name.

"Yeah," he said and went to the door, "okay."

Lamis deflated a little, but Lester didn't have any snappy comebacks in that sweater vest of his, so she didn't crash _all _the way back to earth.

At the door, Lugosi paused and sniffed his armpits, then cupped his hand in front of his mouth and blew of puff of air. He was suddenly very conscious of how he looked, smelled, and sounded (like a teenager with a reedy, breaking voice). Ramona wasn't superficial and their relationship was built on a far more solid foundation than _dayum he look fine, hollar at'cha girl_, but he still wanted present the best version of himself.

She deserves nothing less.

*Girly, lovestruck sigh*

Rolling his neck like a boxer limbering up for tonight's main event, he turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Ramona Santiago stood on the step with her hands behind her back. Light danced in her liquid brown eyes and a sly little smile touched her thin lips. Fourteen and taller than him by a full six inches, Ramona wore her black hair in lush pigtails held in place by butterfly clips. Unevenly chopped bangs swished across her unibrow and when her smile widened, her jagged teeth peeked out of her mouth like fangs. She was clad in a pink, sleeveless square neck dress over a white T-shirt, tight black leggings with an ugly floral scheme, and cheap pink Crocs from Walmart. A silver heart locket attached to a braided chain nestled in the hollow of her throat and a bracelet dangled from one slender wrist.

"Hey," she said, somehow managing to sound shy.

Lugosi smiled. His stomach did a flip and when he caught a whiff of her shampoo on the summery wind, his dick stirred and muttered in its sleep; a pang of horror rippled through him and for a second, he was certain Ramona would see it and think he was a perv. _I can't even walk up to your door without you popping a boner? Lester's right, you're pathetic._

If she did, she made no sign. She bent deeply at the waist and playfully puckered her lips. Lugosi did the same and gave her a quick, chaste kiss. He considered slipping her some tongue, but the few times they "went to France" as the kids say (okay, he was the only kid who said that), they did so after lots of hand holding, talking, and snuggling on the couch. Swapping spit wasn't really something you do right off the bat. Right? It's like pudding. Ya gotta have your meat first.

They reluctantly parted and Ramona rocked on her heels. "Sorry I'm late. Dad sent me on a beer run before I left."

Beer run?

When Lamis spoke inches behind him, Lugosi jumped. God, you're worse than Mom. "You bought _beer?_" She sounded scandalized, like a Victorian lady confronted with bare ankle, and if he turned, Lugosi was certain her hand would be pressed to her chest .

Ramona shrugged. "Yeah, I buy it all the time."

"Where?"

"Flip's."

Lamis made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. "Figures. That man has no scruples."

The smell of sulfur filled Lugosi's nose, denoting the presence of evil, and he knew his brother was behind him before he even opened his mouth. "Can we please leave?" he asked. "It's getting late." His tone wasn't snide as it was before; he sounded legit worried. Dude, chill, it's three blocks, we got plenty of time.

"Yes," Lamis said, "we can leave."

And that's how it all began.


	2. The Date

**STR2D3PO: They aren't sin kids per se, unless you use "sin kids" as a generic catch-all term to mean all OCs derived from Loudcest pairings (the way some people say "Give me a coke" when they really mean Pepsi). Sin kids are their own brand at this point and it's that brand that I really don't care to work with anymore, but I may. I just go where the spirit takes me. And, I won't lie, it took me back to the sin kids recently for the remake of my story **_The Texas Chainsaw Loud House_**. Some of them, and Lori, play the bad guys. It's kind of satirical. **

**For anyone who was in The Loud House Super Server or friends with me on Discord, my account was deleted or disabled by Discord and all of my servers deleted. I don't know why, they didn't even send me an email, I have no idea what it was about. We were reported a while back and Discord sent me an email giving me 48 hours to delete all the lolicon art or face removal. This time nothing. I hear Discord does this shit and I'm appealing. I hope to get my old account back but doubt I will. **

* * *

Warm wind redolent of flowers and freshly cut grass blew over Franklin Avenue like the perfume scent of summer herself and streetlamps cast puddles of orange light on the sidewalk. The hazy moon lifted above the wavering treetops, its faint glow suffusing the heavens, and stars twinkled like flecks of diamonds on blue velvet. Lugosi and Ramona trailed behind Lester and Lamis, their fingers twined and their palms pressing stickly together; ahead, Lester slipped his arm around Lamis and she rested her head against his shoulder. She said something, and he chuckled heartily. _Indeed, _Lugosi could imagine him saying in that pompous way of his.

Ramona spoke, bringing him out of his reprieve. "How's the story coming?"

Everyone in Lugosi's family knew that he wrote fan fiction, but he didn't share any details because talking about his work embarrassed him. Ramona was literally the only person in the world he talked to about it, and she even read a few chapters, which was a really touching gesture since _I fucking hate to read. _He got that, but he was still kind of hurt that she wouldn't finish it...while at the same time endlessly thankful that she put in the effort. Kind of weird to feel that way, but she made him feel all kinds of emotions. He wasn't flat and sonorous like his mother, but he also didn't prance around with his heart on his sleeve like a sensitive little baby. With Ramona, however, he was tender, fussy, gentle, and multiplied every feeling she woke in him (sadness because they were arguing, joy that she was coming over to hang out) at least ten fold, maybe even twenty.

_A girl's supposed to do that to you, _his father told him once, and Lugosi took his word as gospel: Dad was a straight ass pimp who had more women in one night than most eighties hair bands had in their entire careers. If anyone knew, it was him.

"Good," he said, "I'm almost to the part where Briscoe dies."

"Heart attack, right?"

Aw, she remembered. "Yeah," Lugosi said, "I was thinking he'd be in the bullpen when it happens, but part of me wants it to happen when he's on the toilet."

Ramona's free hand flew to her mouth to stifle a shocked giggle and she doubled over. Lugosi's lips turned up in a smile he couldn't have contained if he wanted to and his heartbeat sped inexplicably up. He could write poetry about her laughter, and if there was a more beautiful sound, he hadn't heard it. "You're a dumbass," she hitched.

"I know," he said proudly. That was her pet name for him. His for her was _My Latin Queen. _He used it once and for some reason she launched into hysterical laughter and didn't stop until she was crying and gasping for breath. That was the first time she called him dumbass, actually, and she did it with a soft, happy sparkle in her eyes that forever imbued it with positive connotations.

They were in town now, darkened storefronts lining the way. Royal Woods was a small town and closed early; as soon as sunset hit, everyone scrambled to get home before dark like frightened villagers in a cheesy vampire movie. The only thing open was _Pissy's Pizza_ up on the left; neon lights flashed in the window, and faint strands of music from the jukebox seasoned the air. Lamis looked up at Lester, her eyes shimmering much like Ramona's, and with a devilish grin, she grabbed a handful of Lester's ass and squeezed. Lester did not, much to Lugosi's chagrin, laugh like the Pillsbury Doughboy; he did jump a little, though. Lugosi stole a furtive glance at Ramona and wondered if he should do the same.

Dread slithered through the pit of his stomach and he flattened his lips. No, he shouldn't. Call him what you want, but he really liked Ramona and he didn't want to jeopardize what they had.

Or was he being paranoid? Hey, she's a fourteen year old girl, and fourteen year old girls feel the _call of nature _just the same as boys. Ramona had never indicated she wanted to jump his bones, but, you know what? Neither had he...and he wanted to jump hers pretty damn bad. It stood to reason that she would want the same.

Only, and here's the thing, girls don't have to worry about scaring a boy off by being forward. It's well known that guys are always DTF, so if a girl really wants it, all she has to do is ask. Guys can't do that. Ramona hadn't said or done anything that suggested she was ready, so she probably wasn't. If he tried anything now, she might mistake it as him pushing her or something.

He allowed his eyes to linger on her profile - the delicate line of her jaw, the graceful curve of her throat, her small but firm breasts, their outline almost completely hidden by the formlessness of her dress. The gut clenching urge to cup her cheeks in his hands, press his body against hers, and take her to France swept him like a surge of lava, and he turned away lest he wind up taking himself to Bonertown instead.

In his periphery, she stole her own glance, and his heart skipped a beat. "You should seriously do the toilet thing," she said, "that'd be really funny. I'd read it."

"No pressure," he said.

"Oh, shut up, you'll do fine," she shot back.

"I was talking about all the racist-against-Mexicans stuff I gotta take out now."

Ramona pursed her lips and crushed his hand. He let out a strangled cry, more of surprise than pain, and she smirked tightly. 'I'll take _you _out."

Now, Lugosi didn't believe in hitting women, but the defiant set of her jaw and the smugness in her eyes _begged _for retribution, so gritting his teeth, he crushed _her _hand.

"Ow!"

She ripped her hand away and raised it, palm up like she wanted a high five, and Lugosi jumped back. She came forward, and he ducked around her. She spun on her heels and furrowed her brows angrily, but couldn't keep the smirk from her lips. Lugosi backed into a fire hydrant and she stalked after him like a predator closing in for the kill. With nothing left to do, he knocked her fucking lights out and ran home before she could regain consciousness. Not really; he tried to escape but her hand came down on his arm anyway, hard but not hard enough to hurt.

Much.

He let out a half cry/half laugh and shot out his hands to push her back. Ramona was quicker, though; she grabbed them with hers, their fingers slipping together, and shoved. He stumbled, and pushed back. She staggered but kept her balance, and they stared into each other's eyes like two wrestlers grappling in the middle of a ring. She pushed, and he pushed back; she bowed her head and lifted one foot, and he gave serious thought to kicking her in the shin. "Let go, fag," she said.

"You let go."

That was another one of her pet names for him.

Instead of letting go, she clamped down on his hands and threw herself forward, almost knocking him over. He held her back but -

"Uh, guys?"

They both turned their heads. Lamis stared at them with arched brows and a fond, puckered little smile. Next to her, Lester rolled his eyes and looked like he was trying _really _hard to not bust out an acerbic comment. Lugosi and Ramona both flushed and let go of the other's hands, Ramona making a show of smoothing the front of her dress and Lugosi suddenly finding reason to study his shoes very, very closely. He and Ramona were kind of...what's the word...playful (?) with each other and did stuff like this all the time. Rarely in front of people because acting like a couple kids was soooort of embarrassing.

"Are you done?" Lamis asked, a jocular inflection in her voice.

"Yeah, we're done," Lugosi said.

"Good, cuz I'm hungry."

She and Lester turned and started up the sidewalk, and Ramona and Lugosi fell in behind. Ramona swatted his arm and he shot her a glance. "Dork," she whispered.

"Geek."

"Loser."

"Well, you're dating me, so that makes you….a loser lover.'

As soon as the L word (guess which one) left his lips, his cheeks burned and he regretted saying it. They hadn't been together long enough to say anything about love.

She didn't seem to register it. "I have bad taste," she said in an eh-I-accept-my-flaws tone.

That made him laugh. "Nice."

Pissy's was directly across the street now, cars parked up and down the curb and people standing outside the front door talking and smoking cigarettes. Lester and Lamis waited for a line of traffic to pass, looked both ways, then crossed. A small, narrow building with a single plate-glass window and a red awning, Pissy's was what Lugosi called a _hole in the wall, _but the food was fucking epic. He used _epic _unironically, too, because during your meal, your taste buds went on a thousand mile journey to Mordor and back, only in this AU, Mordor was heaven and all the food was cooked by Jesus himself. It was so good, no lie, that Guy Fieri taped an episode of _Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives _there years ago...before his massive heart attack. He said the pizza was _outta bounds, _the garlic knots were _on point, _and that the baked ziti made him want to slap his grandmother. There was a framed photo of him on the wall; it was like a train wreck, you couldn't look away. Spiked hair, short sleeve button up with flame scheme, sunglasses on backwards...he looked like every eleven year old boy in the year 2000.

Lester, proving that he wasn't a complete caveman, went ahead of Lamis and opened the door. She flashed him a warm smile and went in. Lugosi waited for him to go next, but he simply stood there, gripping the handhold and looking grumpy. When Lugosi didn't move, he gestured impatiently. "Come on, step lively."

Lugosi nodded to Ramona, and she went in first, then he followed, Lester bringing up the rear.

A long, scuffed counter flanked one wall, and booths upholstered in torn red vinyl lined the facing one. Overhead lamps provided dim, ambient lighting that went a long way in hiding the cracked tiles, cobwebs, and general grubbiness for which Pissy's was famous (it wasn't a diner and it wasn't a drive-in...guess what Guy classified it as). Photos and posters dotted the grimy walls (GoodFellas, Scarface, and The Godfather, because Italian equals organized crime), lit candles in empty wine bottles sat on every table, and harried waitresses buzzed through the dining room with trays of pasta, soup, and 'za like bees on crack. The smell of food and the low chattering voice of two dozen voices slapped Lugosi in the face (I'm not your grandma, Ghost of Guy Fieri, damn) and classic pop drifted from a shabby looking Payola in a corner. Sounded like Kelly Clarkson but he wasn't sure, he liked Vaporwave, not fagwave.

Heh. Gotta write that one down.

"I hope there's a table," Lamis worried. Every one Lugosi could see was ock-u-pod-o.

"There had better be," Lester grumbled, "we've reservations."

Ramona nudged Lugosi's arm and nodded to a booth in an alcove to their left. "Check it out," she said.

Lugosi followed her line of sight to a morbidly obese man with a napkin tucked into his shirt. He held a sauce slathered rack of ribs in his hands and tore meat from the bone like a starving dog. Red stained his lips, chin, and cheeks, and more coated the tips of his sausage fingers. Lugosi crinkled his nose, and Ramona grinned wickedly...which meant she was about to make fun of him without mercy. "He's so fat he had to buy two reservations."

Kek. Mean but mildly amusing.

"He's so fat he brought a spoon to the Super Bowl."

Lugosi bit back a nasty wheeze. Ramona was like a house fire when she teased: She started small, like a spark on the curtains, then rapidly got worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it) until everything was burning and you had no chance in hell of escaping.

Her grin sharpened with satisfaction, and she continued. "He's so fat even Dora can't explore him. He's so fat he was baptized at SeaWorld. He's so fat it takes two planes, a train, and a bus to get on his good side. He's so fat he has to wear six different watches: One for each time zone. He's so fat that when God said let there be light, He asked him to move out of the way." Her devious simper and glinting eyes were both intimidating and alluring, and for the second time that night, Lugosi beat back the urge to take her face in his hands, rub the tip of her nose tenderly with his, then take her so far into France she'd need a French phrase book just to make her way around.

Someone coughed, and they both looked up to find Lamis glaring at them. "That's really mean."

"Indeed," Lester said. "I'd like to try." Lamis shot him a dirty look and he cleared his throat. "He is so corpulently overweight that his arteries are clogged with excess fat and he will most likely suffer a devastating miocardio infarction before his fiftieth birthday, resulting in either surgery or death."

He chuckled, then sobered when Lamis sneered. "You're not funny," she said.

Before she could strangle him, a hostess with a jaunty ponytail came over and lead them to an out of the way booth. Lamis and Lester sat on one side and Ramona and Lugosi on the other, Lugosi opting to sit nearer to the wall. The hostess slapped a menu in front of each one, then whipped out a pad of paper and took their drink orders: Cokes all around, except for Lester. _He'll have a water,_ Lamis said. When the hostess was gone, Lester turned to her and lowered his brows. "A water?"

"You have to watch your weight," Lamis said as though that should be obvious. To be fair, by now it should have been. "You're already going to be eating greasy, fatty food. I just saved you a few calories." She offered a smug, closed lip smile. "You're welcome."

Ramona opened her menu and scanned the first page. Lugosi flipped through his, already knowing what he wanted but open to changing his mind if he saw something more appetizing. He glanced at Ramona from the corner of his eye and, yep, found something more appetizing alright. He darted his gaze to her leg, so close he could reach out and lay his hand on it if he were brave enough. He looked it up and down, from her bare and exquisitely crafted ankle to the point where it joined with her shapely hip. How soft and warm would her inner thigh be? How soft and warm would her center be if he cupped it in his hand and took her on a tour of France? Would it get hotter and hotter the way his dick would surely get harder and harder?

Speaking of getting hard, Lugosi Jr. was starting to push himself outta bed, and Lugosi whipped his eyes back to his menu. Go down, go down.

Umm. _Go down. _

Shut the fuck up.

"What do you want, dumbass?" Ramona asked. He was blushing, shaking, and discomfited, and the sweet, musical sound of her voice didn't help matters.

Across the table, Lester closed his menu, sat it down, and crossed his arms. He looked stiff and uncomfortable.

Hey, just like Lugosi.

We really are brothers.

"Uhh…" he completely blanked. He knew only that she asked him a question and he needed to answer it. See, this is why thinking dirty thoughts is a bad idea; they have a way of forcing everything else out and made it so you had to grasp and straws and buy time to - oh, right. What did he want. "I'm getting a calzone," he said with a deep nod.

Lamis grinned. "Me too. What kind?"

"Pepperoni," he said. Pepperoni was the best thing Italy ever produced. Aside from Fascism.

Joking.

Ramona scrunched her moist, pink, kissable lips from side to side in indecision and let out a long, thoughtful hum. "I don't know what I want. Is the zita good?"

"It's very good," Lester said, "that's what I'm getting."

Lamis nodded. "It's okay, not my favorite, though. The alfredo is oh my God, though." She threw her head back and fluttered her eyelids obscenely.

Because he was weak, Lugosi was looking at Ramona's knee again and spinning grandiose fantasies of feeling its shape beneath his hand. A girl's knee is, like, the halfway point to her crotch...if you start at her feet.

Ummm...Ramona's feet. Delicate, petite, pink polished nails…

Lugosi blinked. He wasn't a foot kind of guy; the fact that he was practically salivating over the thought of touching, massaging, and kissing Ramona's feet was like rock bottom, the point where every addict realizes he's gone too far down the rabbit hole and _oh, shit, I have a problem. _

And like an addict, he didn't give a shit. He'd slip her Croc off slowly and pepper her perfectly formed foot with gentle kisses from sole to...idk, the top part...lingering on every precious toe. He wouldn't lick because he wasn't _that _far gone, but he'd stroke, kiss, touch, knead, rub, and -

Oh, shit, now his boner was raging and a blush so hot it was cold spread across his face. He ripped his gaze away and sent it back to the closed menu before him. On the front, a rosy cheeked chef with a pencil line mustache made a circle with his thumb and forefinger _Mama mia, that's a'spicy meat'a'ball. _He tried to focus on that instead of the images flickering through his mind: Trailing kisses up Ramona's naked legs, making her squirm and pant; pulling her leggings slowly down like unwrapping a present, the fabric bunching as it brushed along her sun kissed skin and freeing her dank, fragrant heat (he didn't know what a woman smelled like, but topfuckingumf); holding her most fragile and sacred part gently in the palm of his hand and kissing her deeply; giving his love and devotion and receiving hers in turn…

He bit down on the insides of his cheeks so hard he tasted blood. The visions dissipated like windswept smoke and he realized he was holding his breath. "...to _die_ for," Lamis said and waved her hand. She glanced at Lester for support. "Isn't it?"

"It is," Lester said.

Lugosi's head spun; he had no idea what they were talking about. Ramona's body? Yeah, it _was _to die for.

"That sounds really good," Ramona said, "I might try it."

"I'd get one but I don't want to torture Lester," Lamis said and patted her brother-boyfriend's leg. "He can't have any."

Lester rolled his eyes.

"The last time we checked, he was 228, down from 235," Lamis said. "We're making progress."

Lester shifted in discomfort. "Lamis, please," he snorted.

"My dad's 250," Ramona said. "Most of it's beer. He doesn't eat all that much."

Lamis blinked in surprise, but before she could reply (_oh my god, he drinks beer? That's so unhealthy_) a shadow fell across the table. All four looked up to see a seven foot tall dinosaur suit looming over them, its skin greenish blue and its scales shimmering in the light. It wore a waist apron, sunglasses, and a bandana, and held a tray full of glasses. "What it do?" he asked in a deep voice. "Who had what?"

What the fuck is _this _shit? Looked like some random, off the wall BS Lugosi would throw into one of his fanfics when he got bored.

"Uhh…" Lamis drew, just as shocked his him. "W-We all had Cokes and he had water." She hooked a thumb at Lester, who gaped at the gargantuan with open wonder.

The dinosaur sat the tray on the edge of the table, grabbed a glass, and put it in front of Ramona, then on in front of Lamis, then Lugosi. Finally he handed Lester his water; he wasn't very careful about it, and some sloshed over the rim. He stepped back and rubbed his hands like he was about to make some money. "'Ight, name's Dino and Imma be takin care of y'all tonight. What'chu want? We got bottomless soup, nigga, endless breadsticks...we got the wing hook up if y'all want some wings. Buffalo, dry rub, BBQ, nigga, you name it, we got it."

Lamis looked strickenly around at the others, and when no one spoke, she said, "I'll, uh, I'll have a sausage calzone with green peppers and onions."

Dino jotted that down.

Shaking his head like a man coming out of a trance, Lester asked, "Why are you wearing that?"

The dinosaur looked him up and down, and even though his maw remaned frozen, Lugosi couldn't help but see a sneer of distaste. "Why you wearing that sweater, nigga? It's July. Yo tits get cold?"

Lester's jaw clenched and a laugh was shocked from Lugosi's throat. Ramona, mouth agape, smiled and let out a raspy chuckle. "Now see here…" Lester started indignantly.

"Shut yo ass up and order somethin," Dino snapped, "I got other tables waitin, nigga. You might be so fat the other planets revolve around yo ass, but I don't, so take head yo greasy ass head out yo asshole and tell me what'chu wanna eat."

The boy's face turned bright red. "I'd like to speak to your manager," he grated.

"Nigga, you speakin." Dino tapped a henceforth unseen name tag on his chest. MANAGER, it said.

The manager...of this place...wore a dinosaur suit.

"What'chu gotta say? You wanna cry like a lil baby? Go head, baby, cry. Want me bring yo water back in a sippy cup? You need a booster seat? Nigga, we ain't got no changin station in the bathroom, so you best hold yo piss and shit til you get home."

Lester's teeth grinded together with an audible crunch and he turned pointedly away. "I'd rather nothing."

"Fine," Dino said, "you can stand to skip a meal, fatty." He turned to Ramona, and she cringed against Lugosi as if for protection. "What you tryna have, girl?"

Ramona's knee pressed against his knee and her elbow rubbed with his; his heart took off into the stratosphere and he reflexively put his arm around her shoulders. She melted into him, and her satiny warmth flowed into him. "Uh...baked ziti," she said warily.

Dino jotted that down. Finally, he looked at Lugosi. "What bout you, Mr. Dark as Night?"

"Pepperoni calzone."

Writing that in his pad, Dino looked around the table. "Ight, Imma be back."

With that, he turned and walked away. Lugosi and Ramona both craned their necks to watch him go. His tail dragged on the floor, and maybe it was Lugosi's imagination, but he swore it twitched as though it were alive.

"Alright, wow," Lamis said, "he's a jerk."

"A miscreant of the lowest order," Lester said. "I've half a mind to get up and walk out."

Miscreant or not, Lester's eyes roiled with hurt and for that alone, Lugosi respected the hell out of Dino.

Ramona shifted, and he realized that they were still cuddled up. She made no move to pull away, so neither did he; she fit perfectly into him, like a puzzle piece, and her weight felt _right_. He turned his head slightly at the same time she turned hers, and their eyes met. Looking into hers watery browns always made him weak in the knees and stoked the most amazing sensations in his stomach like a poker to a bed of glowing embers. A strand of her silky hair brushed his nose, and the smell of her natural scent filled his nostrils. His dick tugged impatiently at his body as if to forsake its timid host and strike out on its own, and every hormone he had screamed out at once for him to kiss her.

Pink, like spring flowers at bloom, colored her cheeks and a cute, diffident little _heh _escaped her lips.

"I would too, but their food is _really _good," Lamis said. "I'm not leaving him a tip, though."

Ramona slipped her fingers into her hair and tilted her head shyly away. "So, uh...that was interesting."

"Yeah," Lugosi said. All he had to do was turn and his lips would be on her cheek...then the side of her throat...then his hand squeezing her small but pert breast...then his tongue caressing hers, slowly at first but faster as they both gave into the pounding tides of their passion.

Huh, I gotta write that one down too.

"Only in Royal Woods," he added.

"Yeah, there's something seriously wrong with this town," Lamis said. "Like something in the water."

"There _is _the Naval Surface Warfare center in Dahlgren," Lester pointed out. Dahlgren, three towns over, was home to one of the largest US Naval bases in the country and where weapons and munitions were developed. Once a month, they tested them on Lake Jackson, the largest lake in Royal County...and also where most of the region's drinking water originated. That would explain why there were so many weirdos in town. Seriously, the local Down Syndrome rate was higher than the national average, people got cancer left and right, weirdos like Dino abounded, and no one so much as batted an eye at Dad living in a huge incest harem with his ten sisters. You know how all those crazy news stories come out of Florida? _300 pound man breaks into McDonald's to drink fryer grease; man arrested for attacking wife with slice of pizza.._.yeah, Royal Woods was the same.

Oh, but the government said there was no danger at all.

"It's something," Lamis said.

Across the dining room, a girl about sixteen with long red hair got up from a booth, swayed, and started toward the bathroom. When she passed the table, she glanced at Lamis, and her eyes widened with recognition. "Oh, hey!"

Lamis glanced up at her, and her furrowed brow smoothed. "Oh, hey, Cindy. How's it going?"

A vague memory stirred in the back of Lugosi's head. Lamis mentioning someone named Cindy from school or knowing someone named Cindy or something. Ramona snuggled closer, half turned, and took his hand in hers. She spread his fingers apart like a curious little girl examining something strange, new, and interesting, and Lugosi's eyes went to the back of her neck. If he brushed her hair aside, he could kiss it. Hell, he didn't even have to move her hair out of the way; in his state, he'd kiss that too.

"Good," Cindy said, and Lugosi detected a hint of thickness in her voice, "it's my birthday so I'm hanging with some friends. Celebrating." Her voice lifted suggestively on the last word. "_Celebrating" _

"Happy birthday," Lamis said.

"Thank you," Cindy replied, then glanced at Lester. "That your boyfriend?"

"Yep," Lamis said with a touch of pride she by all rights had no business feeling - like a girl tickled pink over her ugly, knock off Uggs. She leaned back against Lester and splayed her hand on his pudgy stomach. "He's my snuggle bear."

Lester's face flushed red again, and Lugosi couldn't tell if he liked being called that or hated it. Probably a little of both. Ramona grimaced (_too...sweet...yuck_) and Lugosi swallowed a mocking Nelson Muntz _haha_. Snuggle bear? Kek. Wow. He knew Lamis could be a dork, but with her playing Mrs. Responsibility all the time, he rarely ever saw her whimsical side. You know, come to think of it, she and Lester had one thing in common; they both had sticks up their butts. Lamis was far more good natured and optimistic, but took great pride in having a level-head, being dependable, all that other gay stuff, which lead her to be kind of a Hitler sometimes. Lester was like...hmm...that guy who shot up that mosque in New Zealand: Full of memes and hatred.

J/k, memes were cool, so of course Lester didn't like them.

"...bathroom," Cindy said. She turned away from the table, staggered a little, caught her balance, and disappeared. Ramona held Lugosi's hand up, studied his fingers, then pulled his pinky sharply, making him yelp.

They say Latinas are "fiery" but he'd never heard anything about sadistic.

She flopped her head back and looked at him upside down, a bouncy grin on her lips. "Sorry."

Lugosi didn't believe in hurting girls, but he _did _believe in equality among the sexes. Reaching out, he grabbed one of her pigtails and yanked. "Ow! Jerk!" She drove her elbow into his side and the air left his lungs in a rush. Oof. Who has two thumbs and will spend the next week pissing blood? This guy.

Cindy came back from the bathroom, went to her table, then came back a few moments later with an armful of glass bottles. "Here," she said and sat one in front of Lamis, "happy birthday to me."

The contents were blue and the label boasted a picture of a tropical beach. Lamis looked at it as Cindy sat another in front of Lester, then one before Ramona. "Is this alcohol?"

"It sure is," Cindy said and batted her eyelashes. She sat the final bottle down with a thunk in front of Lugosi. On closer inspection, there were little pictures of coconuts and pineapples too. Sweet. Coconuts and pineapples rule.

His older sister didn't agree: Her eyes widened and her lips parted in horror almost like she thought the bottle was going to come alive and attack _(When Good Booze Goes Bad)_. "Uh...no, w-we don't really drink...we'll all too young."

"So am I," Cindy grinned.

Ramona picked up her bottle and turned it this way and that, her brow cutely pinched, and Lugosi grabbed his; aw, man, it's piss warm. I can't drink that.

Snapping her mouth closed, Lamis looked up at her friend. There was a steely resolve in her eyes that you only saw when she made up her mind. "Thank you for the offer, but -"

"Yo, Cin-day!"

Cindy turned to her table, then back to Lamis. "I gotta go. Those are really good. Enjoy."

Lamis raised her index finger and began to reply, but Cindy staggered off. Sighing, Lamis look at the bottle in front of her with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. Lugosi twisted off the cap off his.

"Put that down!" Lamis started. "Don't drink it!"

Lester snatched his bottle and read the label. "The alcohol by volume content is negligible at best," he said stuffily, "it's practically fruit punch."

She shot him a dirty look. "I don't care. It's still alcohol and Lugosi and Ramona are _far _too young to drink."

Lugosi lifted the bottle to his nose and sniffed. "How does it smell?" Ramona asked anxiously.

Like I'm about to drink the shit out it. "Really good," he said. He lifted it to his lips, and Lamis paled. "Stop!"

Cool liquid sloshed down the back of his throat. It didn't taste as good as it smelled - the battery acid aftertaste made him wince - but it wasn't bad. He smacked his lips and smiled smugly. Look at me, ma, I'm a man now.

Lamis glared. "No more. If Dad finds out I let you drink -"

"For Christ's sake," Lester said, "it's a wine cooler, Lamis, not moonshine." He twisted the cap off his and took a drink, then smacked his lips. "I've had stronger mouthwash."

Ramona tentatively opened hers and gave it a scrutinizing whiff.

"That doesn't matter," Lamis said, "I -"

"You said you wanted a nice night out," Lugosi said and took another swig, "so relax and have one."

Ramona lifted the bottle to her lips and upended it. Lamis looked strickenly from one to the other like a woman overwhelmed, then to Lester as if for help. "It's barely alcoholic," he offered.

"But...we don't drink...it might affect us more strongly."

Lester snorted. "I think we can handle a single wine cooler apiece, Lamis."

"This isn't bad," Ramona said to her drink.

Lamis pouted at hers...then gave in. "Alright." She picked it up, handling it with the care one might employ with a venomous snake, then twisted the lid off. She raised it to her nose, sniffed, then arched her brows. "It _smells _okay."

She took a sip. "And tastes even better."

"Atta girl," Lester said.

She was right, and it managed to somehow taste better and better with every sip Lugosi took. He swished each slug from one side of his mouth to another like a wine snob appraising the worth and character of a rare vintage. At first, the pineapple was more predominate, then, halfway through, he could taste the coconut more strongly. Around that time, he realized something strange was happening; the edges of his consciousness blurred and warm, roaring good cheer filled his head. Lamis and Lester both visibly thawed - their postures untensed, their shoulders slumped, and they both became _really _talkative. Ramona turned to face away from Lugosi her feet jutting over the edge of the bench, and leaned her back against him. He unthinkingly slipped his arm around her neck and she clutched his arm with her free hand. Her closeness made him feel even better, and when he was done with his wine, he was grinning like a dumbass.

Lester folded his arms on the edge of the table and hanged his swaying head. His eyes were bleary and his mouth a drunken squiggle. "...then _I _said I came for a battle of the wits, but you are clearly unarmed."

Lamis screamed laughter and waved her hand - stop, you're killing me. "You're so bad," she hitched.

"He was so offended, he left the group and deleted his account."

Lugosi turned to face Ramona. Given their position, his lips were bare inches from her temple and her hair tickling his neck. "How do you feel?" he slurred.

"Like I'm drunk," she said and laughed.

"No one's drunk," Lester said, stumbling over his words, "we're simply having fun." He looked at Lamis. "Now I simply have to use the...the laboratory."

Lamis turned to him, tucked her chin against her chest, and gave him a sly look. "You mean lavatory."

He smiled. "I do. You know me so well." He tilted forward, and Lamis met his lips halfway. Deep beneath the fog of his inebriation, Lugosi knew that such an openly display of affection from Lester was really fucking weird, but he didn't care - he didn't even care when Lester cupped her cheek in his hand and sloppily took her to France. His palm was splayed on Ramona's chest, like, inches from her boob and her body was molded to his - keeping from making a move was getting harder and harder and, you know what, didn't seem like such a bad idea now. Maybe it was the booze, but he felt a certain confidence that he didn't before.

Laughing, Lamis pushed Lester away and slid out of the booth. She fell backwards, and her eyes widened in alarm, but she shot out her hand and grabbed the back of the seat, saving herself. She laughed hysterically, and people at other tables looked at her. Lester got up, swayed, and almost toppled over. He started off in the direction of the bathroom, and Lamis slapped his ass. "None of that now," he grinned over his shoulder...then bumped into someone. "Pardon me," he hiccuped.

When he was gone, Lamis half sat and half fell, slapped her hands on the table, and pushed herself up. Her bangs hung in her fevered eyes, and she tossed her head. "I'm gonna have some of _that _when I get home," she said thickly. "I like it when he talks nerdy to me," she said and exaggeratedly winked, "get it?"

Lugosi _would _have, but he was entirely focused on Ramona and trying to make up his addled mind. Should he go for it or not? He used to think she'd get mad at him, but that was dumb. It was all dumb. He wrote fan fiction, what did he know? Girls are made to be forward. No, no, wait, guys are made to be forward. It's, like, biology. You know? The genders evolved a certain way - men the hunters and women the...uh...damn, thinking hard...you know, waiterers. Dudes are built to pursue women and women are made to be pursued. If you look at how boys and girls play, it's, like...uh, a game of cat and mouse. With all our actions we...uh...we send social cues and signals and wow, Ramona's been sending me signals forever. Breaking my finger...she pushed me earlier, didn't she? That's a very subtle way of saying _come and get me, big boy_. Be a man and pursue me. Fulfil your biological instincts and mine too~

He furrowed his brow and tried really hard to concentrate through the warm wool flooding his skull. Damn, she _had _been sending him signals...and he missed every single one like a dumbass.

She wanted him.

Probably as badly as he wanted her.

He turned to her; her hair brushed his nose and his heartbeat sped up. Now's the time. Be a man and chase her down. A ripple of anxiety cut through his stomach and he swallowed around a lump of ice. He took a deep breath...and slowly moved his hand down over the swell of her breast.

Ramona stiffened, and he froze, suddenly certain that he was terribly wrong and _really _fucked up. He started to move it back and cook up an excuse (sorry, I was, uh, passing out), but she relaxed and laid her head back in the crook of his neck, her cheek skimming his. W-Was she okay with this? She turned her head slightly, and the elfin little grin on her lips told him that she was.

"Hi," she said huskily.

Lugosi gave her breast a light squeeze, and her smile widened. "Hi," he replied. He was harder than calculus right now, and through he couldn't feel much of her beneath the layers of her dress, shirt, and bra, she was soft, squishy, and warm - just like a girl should be.

"I think I'm drunk," she said. Her gaze was hazy and unfocused and her smile was weak and slipshod, happy but tired too.

"So am I," he said. He squeezed her again, and locked up in surprise when she responded by laying her hand on his inner thigh. Her fingertips were inches from his crotch, so close he all he had to do was buck his hips and she'd be there. Her chest rose and fell with the beat of her ragged breathing, and a fire truck red blush spread across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes pooled with desire, and he realized with a flush that she was turned on.

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, then Lugosi leaned into her. She parted her lips and gently flicked his tongue with hers in a serious greeting. Lugosi tilted his head and returned the kiss, one hand rubbing her breast and the other slipping into her hair. A giddy tremble raced through her frame, and she ran her hand gently up and down his thigh as she stroked his tongue. Her fingertips absently brushed his crotch, then she was cupping it in her palm, the mind blasting sensation of her warm touch making him gasp into her mouth. He deepened the kiss and grazed his fingers down her throat, his opposite hand sliding down the front of her dress and clumsily fumbling at her bra, needing to feel her skin against his.

"Lugosi?"

Without breaking the kiss, Ramona reached into her dress, pushed his hand aside, and yanked her bra over her breasts. She grabbed his hand and pressed it to the smooth, fleshy mound over her heart; it was hot and quivered with excitement in his grasp, her rigid nipple mashing insistently against the heel of his palm.

"Hey, Lugosi…"

Lugosi's passion crested and he pulled away from Ramona's lips. He peppered urgent kisses across her cheek and the side of her velvety throat, and she tilted her head to give him better access, low, breathy moans bursting from her lips. She squeezed his erection and he moaned against her skin.

"LUGOSI!"

Lamis glowered at them, her eyes squinted and her head swaying. Lugosi's heart and dick throbbed in time, and every atom in his body pulled him toward Ramona like a million maganants. "What?" he hissed.

Lamis's features softened. "You go find Lester for me?" she slurred, a hint of pleading in her voice just keen enough to cut through the fog in his brain. "It's be a _looooong _time and I miss him."

Really? You interrupted me for that? "He's fine," Lugosi said, "he just went to take a piss."

"That was _long _time ago," Lamis said, "I'm worried. Go find my snuggle bear, please?" She stuck out her bottom lip and gave him God tier puppy dog eyes that could totally melt steel beams.

"Fine," he said.

Lamis smiled brightly. "Thank you, good brother."

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Ramona's brow pinched in disappointment, and he kissed the tip of her nose. "I'll be right back," he said, "and we can pick up where we left off."

She clamped her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded. "Yes, please."

Those two words, and the needy inflection with which she spoke them, followed Lugosi through the dining room; the taste of her mouth lingered on his lips, and his palm tingled with the memory of her bare breast. He'd touched _lots _of cool stuff in his time, but nothing like that. Firm yet soft, perky and hot. Just thinking about it made his dick ache, and he had to walk hunched over like an old man to hide his hard-on.

The bathrooms were down a hallway flanking the counter, the women's room first then the men's. Have you ever noticed that the woman's room always seems to come first? It's almost like they think women can't hold their wee as long as men, and that if you make them go a few extra steps, you're gonna be dealing with puddles of piddle everywhere. He pushed the door open and went inside. Tile walls. Tile floor. Three stalls, urinals, sinks underneath a mirror. Typical set up. He looked around and didn't see Lester. Huh, where -?

The sound of liquid splashing into liquid found his ears, and he winced. Lester was either taking a diarrhea dump or puking.

Rolling his eyes, Lugosi checked the first two stalls, but they were empty. The door of the third stood ajar, and inside, Lester knelt at the toilet like a pagan worshipper at an altar to a vulgar god. His shirt tail was sloppily untucked and his back rapidly expanded and contracted as he gasped for breath.

_Someone _can't handle their liquor. "Hey."

Lester jerked and looked over his shoulder. His face was flushed and his eyes blood red. Even though Lugosi couldn't say he liked his older brother, his guts twinged in sympathy anyway. "You alright?"

Nodding, Lester turned back to the commode. "I'm fine, I just...took ill. That's all." He pushed to his feet, and his knees gave out, spilling him back to the floor.

"Here," Lugosi said, "let me help."

He went over, got his arms under Lester's shoulders, and helped him to a standing position. The older boy swayed back and forth like a tree in a hurricane but didn't go down. "I'm good now," Lester said. Lugosi backed up, and Lester came out of the stall. At the sink, he turned the faucet on and splashed cold water in his face while Lugosi stood close by, ready to render assistance if need be.

Done, Lester braced himself against the edge of the counter and looked up at Lugosi. For a long time, he didn't speak, and Lugosi started to chafe, then he mumbled, "You know, you aren't bad but looking at your face infuriates me sometimes."

Oh. Nice. "What's wrong with my face?"

He didn't know what response he expected, but it certainly wasn't the one he got. "You're normal," Lester stated.

"Normal?" Lugosi asked, tasting the word as though it were foul.

Lester nodded. "Normal. I'm not." He tapped his temple. "Because of this."

Ahhhh, okay, he feels like his epic intelligence alienates him from other people, whom he considers _normal _and resents. That makes -

"Mother did this to me," he said, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice.

"Well…" Lugosi started but didn't know how to continue, "you sure didn't get it from Dad."

Lester favored him with a blank stare. "You don't understand. Mother literally did this to me. I was a normal boy such as yourself...and the bitch couldn't stand it." He turned away, but before he did, Lugosi was shocked to see deep, seething _pain _in his brother's eyes. "I was three and playing with...trucks," he mused, "not solving complicated equations. Mother didn't like that. She wanted her progeny to be like her." He stared at himself in the mirror, his eyes hard and his lips puckered sourly. "So she cut my head open and did something to my brain. I hate her for that and I hate father for letting it happen...even if he didn't know about it." He turned to Lugosi. "And sometimes I hate all of you for being normal while I'm not. Do you know how hard it is for me to turn my brain off and sleep? It's torture."

Lugosi was speechless.

"Anyway," Lester said and stood up straight, "if I'm a bastard to you, that's why. You didn't do anything wrong, I'm just jealous of you."

For some reason, that struck him as funny; he laughed and clapped Lugosi's arm so hard Lugosi almost fell over. "Don't ever mention this to anyone. Not even to me. I won't hear of it."

Okay, if you're not just drunk and talking out of your ass, your mom fucked with your head. Pretty sure that's illegal and downright certain it's immoral. "Did she really do that?" he heard himself asking. His voice dripped with horror.

"Indeed."

Lugosi's head spun. So...he was a normal kid and his mother wanted him to be a super genius like her. He saw Lester as he must have been at two or three, an average little boy clad in overalls and happily playing with his toys, bright-eyed, smiling, without a care in the world.

Then enter Lisa, a syringe in one hand and a pizza cutter in the other. A shiver dropped down his spine. What kind of monster would do that to their own child?

Now he felt like _he _was going to puke.

Lester patted him on the shoulder, then turned and went out the door. Lugosi lingered for a moment, trying to process what he just learned, but his head was clouded with lust and intoxication and thinking hurt. He followed his brother, and caught up to him in the dining room. If what he said was true, then Lugosi could understand the perpetual PMSing. Being locked in your own mind, isolated from everyone else, unable to talk to them, share interests and passions with them...and all the while knowing your mother did it to you on purpose…

His family was even more fucked up than he thought.

They were ten feet away from the table when Lester, who'd pulled ahead, stopped, and Lugosi ran into him. Hey, man, what gives? He leaned to one side to see around his brother, and his heart jagged. Dino stood at the table, bent forward like a stern mother and whipping his (metaphorically) burning red eyes between Lamis and Ramona. Lamis's head was bowed and her shoulders shook with laughter, and Ramona held her hand to her mouth, wicked delight dancing in her eyes.

"Y'all think it's funny, huh?" Dino asked sharply. "We got kids up in here and look at yo lil peace sign wearin ass. So drunk you can barely sit up. Girl, uh uh, this a family place. I don't play that shit."

Uh-oh. They were in trouble.

Ramona giggled, and Dino shot her a withering look. "What you laughin at, snaggletooth ho?"

Ramona's face fell, and Lugosi froze mid-step.

"With'cho uneven bangs, lookin like yo hairdresser Freddy Krueger. Got'cho Dollar Store shoes on, yo vendin machine necklace, thinkin you all that. Bitch, you a pigeon." Ramona's lips quivered and water shimmered in her brown eyes. Suddenly Lugosi was on fire, fury sweeping through him like a brush fire and consuming everything in its path. His hands curled into shaking fists and his teeth bared. The deep _hurt_ in Ramona's eyes plunged into Lugosi's heart like an icepick, and hot, white _rage _detonated in the center of his skull.

He lunged forward, driven by some terrible outside force, but Lester shoved him out of the way and got in front of him. Slamming one foot against the floor like an anime character renting the earth, he jabbed one righteous finger at the dinosaur's back. "I've had about enough of you," he slurred. Dino perked up and slowly turned. "You don't talk to my...my boyfriend's brother like that."

Dino stalked toward them, and suddenly all of Lugosi's anger drained away, replaced by cold fear. Dino towered over Lester, his frozen face darkening, and Lester glared up at him like a scrappy midget challenging a much larger, much stronger, much more physically adept opponent. Lugosi's stomach knotted and even though he was just talking shit about hating Lester, he was fucking _terrified _for him.

Leaning over until his face was as intimidatingly close to Lester's as possible, Dino sniffed. "What you gon do?"

This was _not _going to end well. Lester was a fat brainiac and he if he stepped to Dino, he was going to wind up a greasy stain on the floor. Maybe he deserved it, but Lugosi was damned if he was going to let that happen to his brother.

Lester hiccuped. "I'm going to -" he glanced over Dino's shoulder and paled. "Dear God."

The mascot turned, didn't see anything, then turned back just as Lester threw a loose right hook that crashed into Dino's jaw.

Because he was so confident in his own immunity to attack, Dino wasn't ready; he staggered back and bumped against the table. For one second he teetered, then he crashed down onto it. The legs gave out and it collapsed in a cacophony of breaking plates, bursting glasses, and jangling forks. Lamis and Ramona both cried out and threw up their hands, and shocked gasps rose from the other patrons. Lester smiled smugly and pointed at the dinosaur. "Worldstar!"

Lugosi's jaw hung slack. He didn't know what was more shocking, Lester's punch or that he knew what Worldstar was.

He didn't have time to worry about that, though; Dino sat up in the ruins of the table, shook his head, and fixed Lester with a deadly glower. "Oh, you done fucked up now." In one smooth, fluid, impossible motion, he sprang to his feet and snatched Lester up by the front of his sweater vest, dragging him high off the ground. Lugosi's heart launched into his throat and Lamis wailed her boyfriend's name.

The gravity of his predicament finally penetrated Lester's drunken stupor, and his eyes widened with holy terror. Before he knew what he was doing, Lugosi threw himself at the dinosaur and battered one massive, skyscraper sized flank with his fists. "Get off of him!" he screamed.

Dino shot out his free arm and swatted Lugosi away like a bug. People shouted and talked excitedly, and a woman screamed. Lamis got up to help, but tripped over a piece of broken table and took the floor to France. Ramona darted her eyes around but was paralyzed where she sat.

"I'mma kill yo brother and I'mma kill you too," Dino said. He wrapped one massive hand around Lester's throat and squeezed. The air burst from his lungs and his eyes bulged from their sockets. Lugosi's heart dropped. He had to something, he couldn't let his brother die, he had to help, stop it, he looked around for a weapon, something, anything, and spotted a long, thick sliver of wood, one edge flat and the other jagged. Coming alive, he bent over, grabbed it, and hefted it like a bat. Dino was strangling Lester with both paws now and shaking him like a crocodile with a dying animal in its bill. "What, nigga?" he screamed triumpetly, "what, nigga?"

Gritting his teeth, Lugosi swung, and the makeshift bat connected with Dino's broad back. The mascot took no notice, made nary a sign that he even felt it. He redoubled his grip and carried on obnoxiously shouting, "What, nigga?" Lester weakly clawed at the backs of Dino's hands and frantically kicked his feet, his fight weakening like a candle snuffing in the night. His face turned first blue, then deep purple. Panic filled Lugosi and he hit Dino again, and again.

"Someone call the police!" a woman cried.

"Nah, fuck the po-leece," Dino shouted, "we got some justice right here. What, nigga? What, nigga?"

On the floor, Lamis sobbed hysterically.

Lugosi hit Dino again, and Dino started to turn. "Yo lil bitch ass gon be -"

The bat was already arching through the air. Lugosi aimed for the mascot's back, but he turned too quickly...and it struck him square in the privates so hard vibrations thrummed up Lugosi's arms. A sharp exhalation exploded from Dino's throat, and he doubled over, his hands releasing and dropping Lester to the floor in a trembling, panting heap. Lugosi stared up at the giant and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.

Then, clutching his crotch, Dino sank weakly to his knees and hung his head.

D-Did I win?

Lamis scrambled to her feet and shambled over to Lester, who lay on his side gasping for breath. She dropped to one knee and ran her hands over him like a mother checking her hatchling for injuries. "Are you okay, snuggle bear?"

Dino swung from side to side like a tree getting ready to fall, and satisfied that he was vanquished, Lugosi let the wood drop from his hands. He remembered Ramona, and his heart skipped a long, wavering beat. He looked up, and she sat where he left her, eyes staring and trauma scoured. Tears leaked down her pallid cheeks and she hugged herself tightly as if against a chill. Lugosi's stomach panged and he went to her. "Are you alright?"

She blinked and seemed to come back from the ether. "I..I don't -"

Before she could finish, Lugosi was wrenched back by the fabric of his shirt. Waiters in white dress shirts and black slacks held Lester upright, arm twisted behind his back, and Lamis in a headlock. One grabbed Ramona by the wrist and dragged her to her feet; she let out a sharp yelp, and Lugosi tensed. "Get the fuck off her!"

From his spot on the floor, Dino sucked ragged breaths. "Get they asses out here," he said, his voice weak and higher pitched than before. The waiter holding Lugosi spun him around and started marching him toward the door. The ones holding Lester, Lamis, and Ramona fell in line like stormtroopers and behind them, Dino caught his second wind. Rearing up on his knees, he let loose a wall cracking roar. "Y'ALL LIL INBRED MOTHERFUCKAS DON'T DO _NOTHIN_ BUT CAUSE PROBLEMS!"

At the door, the waiter shoved Lugosi through, and he fell to his hands and knees. Lester landed on one side of him, face first with an _oof_, and Lamis on the other. Ramona landed next to Lester on her butt, her pigtails rustling.

"And stay out," the waiter called.

The door slammed and they were alone in the night.

"Well," Lugosi said blearily, "so much for a nice night out."

They all looked at each other.

Then erupted into the mad, drunken laughter of people who'd seen Death himself...and spit in his face.

When Lamis puked, though, it wasn't so funny anymore.


	3. After the Date

**RandomReviewerReturns: I have no idea what he is anymore. A trickster god might just be in, though. **

The nighttime streets of Royal Woods were a confused maze of shadows, eye stinging lamplight, and fire hydrants that came out of nowhere and barked you in the shin. Lugosi stopped, threw his arms around a splintered utility pole, and held on for dear life. He read somewhere that cool air was supposed to sober you up, but that was a lie. He was even drunker now - sick, headachy, fevered, and rolling. That's the only word that he had to describe the warm rocking and reeling in his head. The world spun and the ground pitched like the deck of a ship on stormy seas; he fell over three times already and he really didn't want to make it four.

Lester and Lamis,arms slung around the other's shoulders, held one another up and laughed hysterically as they had been since they left Pissy's what felt like hours ago, but couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. "You inbred motherfuckers always cause problems," Lamis snorted, and they both shrieked laughter.

It wasn't that funny, Lugosi tried to say, but his words came in a broken grunt. He felt battered, like the very universe itself was assaulting him from every side. He pressed his hand to his flushed forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. I can overcome this. It's in my head. Focus. Be sober. Mind over matter, motherfucker.

Only that didn't work. He went right on being sloppy and drunk.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and he jumped. "You're cute when you're about to throw up," Ramona said and batted her eyelashes. Her voice was thick and slurred and the smell of alcohol rolled off of her in sickening sweet waves.

Or maybe he was smelling himself.

She leaned heavily into him, one breast flattening against his back, and her arm enfolded his waist. His heart, already racing from the booze, sped up, and his dry throat became even drier. "I'm not going to puke," he said, taking great pains to enunciate each word slowly so that he didn't stumble over them the way he did his own feet. Ramona skimmed her moist lips sensually over the side of his throat, and his skin tightened. His dick, flaccid just moments ago, stood straight up, and the rapid loss of blood to his brain made him dizzy. Her hot, unsteady breath puffed hotly against his flesh and her fingernails dug possessively into his stomach.

Putting his arm around her shoulders, he turned to face her, and she stared down into his eyes, a sly, tipsy smile touching her lips. She tilted forward and he met her half way. Their lips touched and they eyes met. She smiled, then flicked her tongue out. He licked it, and she broke out in a giggle. "That's not how you kiss, dumbass," she said and took his face roughly in her hands. "Your supposed to put it _in _my mouth."

Oh, he wanted to put _something _in her, alright. Instead, he licked her lips and a tremor went through her. She brushed her thumbs lovingly along his cheekbones like an artisan carefully molding clay, and Lugosi took her hips in his hands. The air between them crackled with pregnant meaning, and when they kissed again, deeper and slower this time, an electric zap zigzagged into the pit of his stomach. Ramona's knees quaked and Lugosi tightened his grip to keep her from falling. Tides of passion swept him away, and he was dimly cognizant of pulling her body flush to his, and of his erection jamming against her middle. She gasped into his mouth and attacked his tongue with desperate urgency, soft grunts and heady sighs trembling from her working throat. Lugosi turned himself over to feeling and held her face in his hands, he hips beginning to rock on their own, his bulge grinding deep into her, his head separated from penetrating her by flimsy layers of easily removable cloth; maybe it was imagination, but he thought he could _feel _her - hot, slick, skilken and pulsating with need.

She staggered forward with a shocked _umph _and, entwined, they nearly fell over. "Come on," Lamis slurred, "we gotta get home. It's...it really late and we're in big trouble."

"It's not _late,_" Lester dismissed, "you're just...distorted because of the drugs." He caught himself. "I mean the alcohol."

"We're still in t-trouble."

Ramona caressed Lugosi's cheek and pecked his lips. "Come on, dumbass," she said, then winked, "I wanna be alone."

Hot damn, did she just say she wanted to be alone...like with him?

Some of the mist obscuring his brain parted and newfound energy surged through him like spinach through Popeye; he grabbed Ramona's hand and yanked her along behind. "Let's go," he said.

She uttered a shocked laugh and quickened her step to keep up. "You're gonna break my arm, fag," she squealed.

He slowed down and she drew abreast. "Sorry," he said, then, feeling bold, "I just got kind excited."

"Oh?" she asked knowingly, a dirty little hilt in her voice.

Behind them, Lamis ducked her head, laughed, and patted Lester's stomach. "Stop, you're gonna make me pee!"

Lugosi looked Ramona up and down, taking her in with slow relish, savoring the shape of her long legs, the gentle outline of her breast, the gazelle-like slope of her throat, her narrowed, glassy eyes, her puckered little I-know-what-you're-thinking-and-it-makes-me-hot smile. "Yeah," he said, "I did."

She jutted her chin slightly out, putting him in mind of a pleased cat, then brushed her teeth across her lower lip. "Me too," she said. She leaned in until her nose touched his. "I'm really excited."

Lugosi swallowed. No, he wasn't an expert in women, but he also wasn't a blind moron - by excited, Ramona meant "excited."

Sexually.

Okay, okay, we've established that, now get her home and do something about it.

If possible, his dick got exponentially harder; it pushed out the front of his pants jeans like a medieval joust and pointed territorially at the juncture of Ramona's thighs. Her eyes darted to it, and she her face blushed so deep you'd need to learn Chinese to communicate with it. Her eyes twinkled like stars in the night sky, and it took everything Lugosi had in him to keep from throwing her to the ground and ravishing her right there. He grabbed her hand again, and she allowed him to lead her. Ahead, Lester staggered and went to his knees, dragging Lamis down with him. She cried out, then brayed laughter. "We're in so much trouble but I can't stop laughing!"

Lester pushed to his feet and nearly went down again. "Just act normal," he said boozily, "it's not a big deal. We can do this. I believe in you."

"Awwww," she drew, "thank you." She took his hands, leaned in, and rubbed his nose with hers. He rubbed back and pecked her lips. This was the most affectionate Lugosi had ever seen them in public, and he would have been surprised if he wasn't so worried about getting Ramona somewhere private.

They were at a T-shaped intersection now. All around darkened houses lined the sidewalk and tall trees rustled in the warm breeze. Lamps shone orange pools of illumination on the pavement and the sounds of traffic on Main wafted through the tepid night like the distant whisper of things to come. Lugosi knitted his brow and shook his head. What did _that _mean? Kek, he didn't know, he was blitzed, horny, and…

He came to a stop.

"Uh, guys?"

He, Ramona, Lester and Lamis stood on the curb, the street before them desolate.

"What?" Lamis managed.

He looked around, the uncanny and chest tightening sense of being completely fucking lost crashing over him like a frozen wave. "Where are we?"

Nothing was familiar. Not the yards, not the ranch houses presiding over them, not the street signs; it was like he'd never been here in his life, and his stomach clutched at the possibility that they somehow wound up shambling in the wrong direction. Lamis opened her mouth, then furrowed her brows and turned left, then right, a long, thoughtful hum rumbling in the back of her throat. "W-We should be on Ridgecrest." Her voice lifted in sudden dubiety and she looked at Lester. "Right?"

Lester smacked his lips, squinted, and thrust his head head forward. He surveyed their surroundings, lifted his hand to his forehead to block out a glare that didn't exist, and hummed much like Lamis had. Ramona slipped her fingers through Lugosi's and rocked impatiently on her heels. "Oh, I know where we are," Lamis said. "The house is straight."

"Are you sure?" Lugosi asked, then swept the neighborhood with his gaze again. He spotted a mailbox shaped like a bass that he _thought _he remembered, but dressed in shadows and moonlight, the world looked far different than he had ever seen it. His mother and father didn't really, you know let him out of the house after dark, and now that he really thought about it, he couldn't remember ever being out and about at night.

Lamis nodded resolutely. "Totally sure. I know these things."

She stepped off the curb and started across the street, and Lugosi followed; what the hell, even drunk off her ass, he trusted her more than he did himself. She could be a real wet blanket from time to time, but she was responsible, and that counted for a lot in his book.

Ten minutes later, 1216 loomed out of the darkness on the left like a ship at sail, lights blazing in its front windows. Lamis and Lester stumbled up the walkway and Lugosi's heart began to knock unsteadily. At the door, Lamis stood up straight and took a deep breath. "Everyone act natural, okay?"

She turned the knob and pushed the door open, the light spilling over them like biblical brilliance. Inside, Leah, Leanne, and Aunt Lana sat on the couch, and Aunt Luna sat in the armchair, her feet propped up on the coffee table. She wore a pink uniform dress with a nametag over the breast and rotting tennis shoes. She worked as a waitress at the truck stop on Route 29 and spent eight hours a day on her feet - she ate through a pair of shoes every month and complained endlessly about her feet hurting.

Lugosi closed the door behind him, and Aunt Luna glanced over. "Hey, guys," she said, "how was your date?"

"Good," Lamis said quickly. She was a lot of things, but she wasn't a very good liar; her voice was shaky and dripping with guilt. "It was really good." She hesitated like she wanted to prop up her lie with something else...then she hurried up the stairs. Lester ducked his head and fled after, leaving Lugosi and Ramona alone. Aunt Luna looked at them and cocked her brow, and Lugosi flashed a nervous smile. Could she smell the booze? Could she see the intoxication in his eyes? When he looked at himself at the mirror back at Pissy's, they were bright red and glassy - you'd have to be braindead not to see and know.

Now he was self-conscious. He lowered his gaze to the floor and resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. Next to him, Ramona scratched the side of her head and pointed her eyes shamefully at her Crocs. "You guys had a good time, huh?" Aunt Luna asked, a sly inflection in her voice. Oh, God, she knew.

"Yeah, it was...it was fun." He stayed where he was for a moment, too awkward to move, then went up the steps, his skin tingling with the feeling of being watched. In the corner of his eye, Luna smirked and shook her head fondly (_oh, you)_. At the top, he ducked left and pressed his back against the wall like a man sheltering from enemy fire. Whew, that was a close one. His mom was lax and cool about most things, but being wasted off his ass would probably be one of those things she carted out the Mom Act for.

Ramona reached the head of the stairs, glanced worriedly over her shoulder, then at Lugosi. He opened his mouth to speak, but in a flash, she was grabbing him by the front of his shirt, pushing him back against the wall, and passionately kissing him. He tensed in surprise, then kissed her back. He snaked his hands around her hips, clutched her butt, and dragged her body tight with his; his erection jabbed the inside of her thigh, and a streak of burning sensation shot into the pit of his stomach. She threw her arms around his neck and held fast as he turned; now she was against the wall. She kicked one leg up, braced it to his hip, then the other, wrapping them around and digging her heels into his butt. Her gripped her ass, held her up, and mindlessly grounded himself against her middle, each stroke knocking a gasp from his mouth and a sigh from Ramona's. She pulled away from his lips, and he attacked her throat with frantic kisses, the salty taste of her skin making him drunker than the wine and drawing his groin forward. He thrusted, his dick prodding her center, and Ramona let out a sharp moan; her eyes rolled back in her head and her teeth clamped her bottom lip, a look of nirvana rippling across her face and a broken _nngh _shooting from her lips.

Every kiss, every piston drive of his hips, shoved Lugosi deeper into lust until his body blazed with it and his love steeped mind was totally fogged; he was a higher being reduced, in this moment of concupiscence, to animalism, his body moving on primal instinct alone, his brain choked with dense passion. He could not think, could not reason, he could only feel and let the hand of Mother Nature guide him.

Ramona squeezed her legs even tighter around him and rocked against his boner as best she could; with her head thrown back, eyes hazy, and teeth raking her lip, she, too, was lost to passion, her mind scrambled by the leaden desire flooding her core. She'd been turned on before - like, every time Lugosi kissed her and stuff - but her depths had never been this sickly hot, never pinched _this _hard. Maybe the alcohol had something to do with it, but she was so horny her middle clutched spasmodically and sizzling, sticky arousal soaked through the crotch of her panties and coated her inner thighs. Every time Lugosi's head slammed into her, prodding curiously between her clothed lips and mashing her swollen clit, pangs of jolting pleasure spread through her like spidery lightning in the summer sky and her eyelids fluttered. She swiveled her hips and bucked against him with wild abandon, not caring that they were in the second floor hallway of his house, where anyone could see them, not caring that she was ruining her underwear, not caring that she was so close to the edge that one wrong (right) move would make her cum in her pants, not caring about anything but Lugosi's lips on her neck, his hands squeezing her butt, his hard, steely dick battering the spot between her legs.

He kissed her neck, her jaw, her ear, his teeth nipping and his tongue lashing; he shook with need and grunted like a caveman claiming his mate by force, and Ramona trembled. He pinned her roughly to the wall and grinded faster, driving into her clit and sending bursts of pleasure into her brain so intense it might as well have been agony. She wound her fingers through his hair, wrenched his head back, and fused their lips together; his tongue swept into her mouth and she reverently lashed it with hers.

Lugosi thrusted and she bit his lower lip so hard his mind flashed red, but he didn't care, hardly even noticed. Incredible dank heat raidied from between her thighs and his dick responded by straining in an attempt to get to its source. He hooked his fingertips into the waistband of her leggings, then plunged them down the back of her panties, her full, fevered, bare butt filling his palms, smoother and silkier than he ever could have imagined. She pulled slightly back from his lips, and their tongues whipped one another; mingled saliva coursed down their chins in silvery rivers and -

Something whacked Lugosi in the side of his head, startling him from the depths, and he turned just in time to see a flicker of orange and white disappear into his father's office. "Don't get her pregnant, son," Dad called, then shut the door.

Huh? Whaa? Where am I?

Something lay on the floor, and he and Ramona both looked at it, their brows furrowing in matching expressions of bafflement.

A box.

Ramona unwrapped her legs from around his waist and he sat her on her feet, then stooped down and picked it up.

TROJAN, the label said.

"Uh...did your dad just give you a box of condoms?" Ramona asked.

A smirk touched Lugosi's lips, and he looked up at her. She was grinning goofily.

He nodded.

Ramona's eyes sparkled with evil, then she grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged his lips to hers. Lugosi circled his arms around her, and shuffling, spinning, and pulling, he lead her to his bedroom. She threw him against the door and assaulted his lips, her body pressed greedily to his like a second skin. He reached behind him, fumbled with the knob, and got it; the door popped open and they spilled back, nearly falling. Ramona shoved him onto the bed, and Lugosi stared up at her in boyish wonder as she mounted him, her knees caging his legs, her misty eyes simmering, and her face the most alluring shade of pink he'd ever seen. She sat astride him like a woman upon a horse; her crotch weight heavy and soft on his, and her shaky palms laid flat on his chest. She bit her bottom lip again and moved her palms slowly over his body like an inquisitive girl exploring new territory. The playful curiosity in her eyes and the cute and analytical crease of her brow gave stark testament to her inexperienced virginity. Lugosi cupped her hips then moved his hands slowly up her sleek flanks, the soft shape of her feminine body and the slight motion of her hips making his breath catch.

She pushed his shirt up over his stomach and parted her lips parted in appreciation. Her fingertips danced along his smoldering flesh and a shiver of delight dropped down her spine. He hiked her dress to her hips, and rocking back, she crossed her arms over her chest in an X and pulled it over her head. Lugosi gaped, transfixed, as the fabric drew over her breasts. Her pink bra, undone from before, came with it, and she tossed them both aside. Lugosi licked his chops like a hungry dog, warm mounds of brown skin and dark areolas, nipples hard and pulsating with desire, her stomach flat, her hips rounded just enough to suggest her body's intended purpose. The light glinted on the chain around her neck, and the heart pedant rustled against her caramel skin.

Scarlet embarrassment painted the bridge of her nose and she anxious chewed her bottom lip; her breasts bounced and throbbed with the crazy nervous pounding of her little heart. "Do you like them?" she asked haltingly...like she honestly thought he wouldn't.

Instead of replying, he glided his hands around her hips and up her stomach with deliberate intent. His palms skimmed her breasts and closed lightly around them. Her eyelids fluttered, and throwing her head back, she arched her back to give him easier access. He grazed her nipples with his thumbs and made slow, firm circles. She held his hands tight, mashing them against her, and grinded him deeply; they both moaned and she thrusted again, harder, more forcefully. She threaded their fingers together, flattened her body to his, and molded their lips. Lugosi rested his hands in the small of her back and kissed her, his mind once again rolling away and turning over control to his body. He jammed thumbs into her waistband and brushed her leggings down. She lifted up, yanked them over her knees, then kicked out of them, freeing her core and filling the room with the musky perfume of her scent.

She pawed at his jeans, and he unbuttoned them for her; she unfolded the flaps, and he raised off the bed so she could pull down his underwear. When his dick popped out, she sucked a sharp intake of breath then boldly took it in her hand, her touch gentle, warm, and full of need.

Somehow, in the whirlwind of ardor, he wound up on top of her, holding her wrists to the bed and attacking her lips. His tip sank into her folds, and her flesh gripped him like a desperate hand clutching for salvation, her slick fire scorching his ever tightening shaft. She shifted, reached between them, and navigated him to her opening. "There, there," she panted abjectly "you're right there."

Lugosi slid his hips gently forward, and her boiling core wrapped around his head. He paused, hyperventilating now and so close to coming undone he could barely pull himself back. Ramona put her legs around him and braced her heels against his butt. She drew him closer, spearing herself another inch, and Lugosi hung his head. He wasn't going to last long, and the prospect of cumming too soon mortified him.

He needed to go slow and easy.

The command, however, was lost in transit, and he slammed absently forward, his dick filling Ramona's passage and spreading her wet walls. She gasped and issued a long _ahhhh _like a girl settling into cold water. Her muscles clenched around him as if to expel the intruder and he gritted his teeth. How could something simultaneously hurt and feel blessedly divine?

Pulling back, he surged forward again. Ramona cried out and clung to him; her nails shredding his back and her heels held him partly in place. He set an even pace, and soon, their mixing fluids greased the way and it didn't hurt anymore.

Ramona hugged Lugosi to her chest and lifted to meet each one of this thrusts, the stinging given way to the most beautiful sensation she had ever known; she was full, in both body and spirit, and every scrape of his crowned tip against her rippling walls sent jarring vibrations through her burning body. Lugosi kissed her neck, the side of her face, her ear, his ragged breath puffing hotly against her goosebump prickled flesh, and those tender touches, each one a fully formed declaration of love, pushed her over the top. Her muscles seized and dazzling white light exploded in the center of her skull. Her body convulsed and bucked, taking Lugosi all the way to the font of her womb. He moaned, then swelled painfully inside of her. Suddenly, sizzling heat pumped deep into her stomach, and her orgasm intensified tenfold. She locked her arms and legs around Lugosi and held on as she rose out her climax, purring in the back of her throat every time his seed squirted against her cervix. Lugosi fell limply on top of her and shivered as the final volley drained from him.

For a while afterwards, they held each other close. He began to shrink and with a grimace, he rolled off of her, his cum spilling from her chapped lips in a warm, goey rush. Her pelvis ached and her muscles pulsed with soreness, but when he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her lips, it didn't matter.

She laid her hand on his cheek and stared lovingly into his drooping eyes, her heart swelling with affection until it overflowed and spilled into her stomach. She rubbed the tip of her nose against his, and pecked his chin. "I love you," she said sincerely.

"I love you too," he said and caressed the side of her throat.

For a while, neither spoke, both drowsing in the faint afterglow of their lovemaking; then something came back to Ramona, and she frowned. "Do you...do you think I'm ugly?" she asked.

Lugosi opened his eyes to narrow, bleary slits. Beneath his stupor, she saw confusion. "No," he said, "why?"

She sighed. "Dino said I'm a snaggletooth -"

"Fuck him," Lugosi dismissed. "He's an autist."

Ramona had a lot to be ashamed of, from the poverty in which she lived to the fat, sloppy drunk she called Daddy, but her teeth bothered her the most. Sometimes she stared at herself in the mirror with loathing and disgust and had exert every ounce of energy she had to keep from knocking the hateful things out. Before her family moved back to Royal Woods from Toledo, where her dad worked in the railroad stockyards, the other kids made fun of her so bad she ran home in tears every day. When she moved, she was terrified of it happening again, and the only way she could make sure that wouldn't happen was by bullying everyone into silence. Some small, sick part of her actually enjoyed it, but she did it not for sadistic pleasure, she did it because if she didn't, they would do it to her. You can say she was paranoid or wrong all you wanted, but she knew that if she let them, they would tease her just like the ones in Ohio teased her.

Lugosi brushed his thumb across her cheek and stare pointedly into her eyes. She searched them for traces of deceit, but there were none. "I don't know what anyone else thinks," he said, "and I don't care. You're beautiful to _me_."

A happy blush started in the tips of her toes and worked its way north until she was warm and tingly.

"Also," he said and flicked his eyes shamefully down, "uh...we forgot to use the condoms my dad gave me."

As if to punctuate his statement, a glob of cum oozed out of her and plopped welty to the blanket. Her stomach knotted with dread...then released. Maybe she was still a little drunk on wine and a lot drunk on love, but the idea of having Lugosi's baby brought a smile to her lips. "Eh, those things break all the time anyway."

He opened his mouth, but must have seen the commitment in her eyes; he smiled, moved his hand over her heart, and said, "Yeah, who needs those things?""

"Not us," she said.

He scooted closer and cupped her cheek. "No," he said, "not us."

He took her to France..

...and she took him to heaven.

* * *

Lester Loud lay flat on his back, the room spinning about like a merry-go-round. The ceiling twisted left, right, left, right, and staring up at it was starting to make him feel ill. Closing his eyes did little to alleviate things, as the rocking became even worse in darkness. He pressed his hand to his flushed forehead and fought back a groan.

Next to him, Lamis was curled up in a ball, her knees drawn to her stomach, her head resting on his shoulder, and her palm lying limply on his chest. She stared at him with a fixed, boozy smile that was both attractive and unsettling at the same time. He slipped his fingers into his hair and swallowed a rush of acidic, tropical flavored bile. Christ, it tasted sweet the first time around, now it tasted like one of mother's concoctions - he'd never knocked one back, as it were, but he could vividly imagine. Shudder.

Lamis rubbed his stomach in a slow, revenant circle, like a Buddhist worshipping at a statue of Buddha, and he turned to face her full on. A spill of brown hair lay lank against her forehead, obscuring but not hiding a fresh crop of whiteheads that drew his attention every time he looked at her. He was not repulsed by them, as some might be, in fact, he relished kissing them. She'd wince and cutely crinkle her nose with a charge of _You're so weird, _but she allowed it because, he suspected, she knew why he did it. To him, it was symbolic of accepting and loving even her flaws. She worried incessantly over her frequent bouts of acne but they only served to remind him that she was a real, normal girl and there's something immensely satisfied in being loved by a real, normal girl, isn't there? The models and musicians one sees on television are all too smooth and artificial, always done up and looking like wax mannequins. Real girls hav acne, bad breath sometimes, and fart in their sleep. Lamis was endlessly striking, and her blemishes and bad habits enhanced, rather than diminished, that.

He had no right to such a beautiful and loving partner - he was petulant, sour, envious, and a thousand other trollish things - yet fate had seen fit to give her to him. Their relationship, at least in its present form, was recent, but with the close proximity of their ages, they had always shared a special bond, and routinely blurred the lines between siblings and more. They shared their first kiss when she was nine and they explored each other's bodies to intellectual satisfaction two years later. Neither one of those moments were what he would deem romantic - he and Lamis were precocious, curious, and had what the other was seeking, so why wouldn't they slake their thirst for knowledge on one another?

Things changed on the advent of puberty. They clung to and cuddled with each other just a little more than a brother and sister ought to. Sitting on the couch and watching television, she would rest her socked feet in his lap, and he would absently knead them with his hands. He would slip his arm around her shoulder, and she'd snuggle up, throwing one leg possessively over his lap. Sometimes, she slipped into his bed and slept with her head on his chest, and sometimes he slipped into hers and held her in his arms, her scent, shape, and warmth awakening keen and powerful feelings in his stomach.

In the natural course of things, nuzzling eventually lead to kissing, then kissing to touching, then touching to petting, and finally petting to losing their virginity to each other. Even then, Lester did not realize the true scope of his emotions. It took her spending a summer as a counselor at Camp Rolling Hills for it to sink in that he he loved her. For two months he was sick with loss - he missed the sound of her voice, the way her hand felt in his, her smile (cliched, perhaps, but it really did light up the room), he even missed her hounding him about his weight and whether or not he was wearing his jacket or getting enough sleep. It irritated the bejesus out of him, but she did it because she cared, and not having her there over his shoulder and harping into his ear depressed him deeply. No one else cared for him the way she did, nor did they understand him the way she did. The one who came closest was mother, but Lester could hardly tolerate the sight of. She was selfish, single-minded in her pursuit of her scientific endeavors, and, he suspected, a clinical sociopath.

She probably possessed National Socialist sympathies as well.

Remembrance stirred in the back of his besotted mind; telling Lugosi what mother did to him. He let out a self-loathing sigh and damned himself for being so foolish. He spoke only to Lamis about that, and he swore her to secrecy. He couldn't prove the operation happened, but he had isolated and disjointed memories of it, especially coming awake at one point when the ansistia wore off too soon. Pain, fiery and greater than any he'd experienced before or since, filled his skull, and with a scream, he thrashed so violently he knocked over a tray of chrome and wickedly sharp instruments.

She hated him being normal...hated that her loins did not produce something as cerebral as her...something with its head similarly shoved up its own ass…so she took matters into her own hands. What colossal ego must it take to play God...to honestly believe you know better than nature.

Lamis caressed his face and he came back to himself. Lamis's mouth was turned down in a sharp frown and tears stood in her eyes. His heart twinged and he shifted onto his side, his hand going to her cheek. There were few things in this world that he could not tolerate, and Lamis being in pain was one of them. "What's the matter?" he asked.

She sucked her lips into her mouth as if to keep from breaking down, and a single diamond drop tears tracked along her freckled cheek. He was not one to bear emotion easily, even to the girl to whom he'd pledged his life and heart, but his throat constricted and tears of his own threatened to well in his eyes.

Finally, she let out a shivery breath. "I thought you were gonna die," she slurred.

He cocked his head in confusion, then it came back to him. Something about that dinosaur, an altercation of some kind and he, Lester, didn't do too well. "I doubt I would have died," he said and forced a smile, "at most, he would have stopped once I was unconscious then stood over me to gloat. _What, nigger?" _

A half sob / half laugh escaped her throat and she sniffed. "I didn't like it either way." Her frown weakened into something approaching a smile and she said, "But I did like how brave you were and...and how you stood up for Ramona."

"I did it more for you," he said. "Every time I don't snap one of their necks is my showing you how dearly I love you."

The sun crested wetly in Lamis's eyes a beatific smile spread across her face. "I love you too, Lester," she said, then an idea pinched her brow. "And I'm gonna show it."

She rolled onto her back, then to her side, facing away, then, finally, onto her stomach, getting her knees ponderously under her. Lester watched quizicaly as she thrust her rear into the air, then fumbled with the front of her jeans. She pressed her cheek to the mattress, and one green eye started devilishly through the messy veil of her bangs. She undid her pants and pushed them slowly down over her posterior, then her white panties, both bunching at her knees. Her skin was smooth and smattered with constellations of swirling freckles. Lester had seen her naked body more times than he could count, had touched, kissed, and made love to it too, but gazing upon it never failed to make his heart rate increase.

Lamis grinned and wiggled her rump enticily back and forth. "Put it in my butt."

Lester started. "Your butt?"

He and Lamis were open with everything in heart, mind, and body...except for anal. After their first sexual encounter, she told him _I don't want _anything _near my back door. That's an exit _only. Lester didn't particularly care, though he would be a liar if he said that he wasn't interested in trying it at least once. He respected her boundaries, however. He wouldn't want anything in his rectum either, so he couldn't be too upset. Her anus, however, was part of her, and he loved it the way he loved everything else. He kissed her toes, the soles of her feet, and her butt cheeks, but never _that. _The one time he tried, she clenched and jumped a foot. _Leave my ass alone, Lestard! _she snapped. That nickname never stung as much as it did coming from her, and he hadn't attempted anything with her butt since.

She nodded slowly. "My butt."

He stirred between his legs and butterfly wings beat against the inside of his stomach. In her state, however, she couldn't properly consent to the act, and disappointment so bitter it surprised him washed through his chest. He said as much, and she rolled her eyes. "I said I love you," she said, "and I want to do this with you. My body is _your _body."

That made him chuckle.

"I mean it," she said soberly, "I love you so much I'm willing to give you my butt virginity." She snorted laughter and raked her fingers through her hair. Lester's eyes went to her creamy flesh, and his dick slowly inflated.

"I don't want to do something you'll regret later on," he said.

She reached out her hand and took his. "I won't regret it," she said, "I don't regret anything involving you."

He smiled and skimmed his thumb over her knuckles. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," she declared.

Jamming his elbows into the bed, he drew himself into a sitting position and waited for the vertigo to disperse before getting to his knees. Lamis arched her back and lifted her butt as high as she could get it. Her center was pink, moist, and exuded a wild fragrence that made him salivate; kneeling behind her, he admired the view, his gaze travelling from her puckered anus down to her love-swollen vagina and back again. She turned her head and stared at him from the corner of her eye, her smile growing as he unclasped his belt. He was breathing faster now at the promise of things to come, his palms sweating, his heart knocking; his fingers trembled as he pulled down the tab of his zipper and when he pulled his penis out, Lamis bit her lower lip and hummed suggestively.

If Lamis was self-conscious about her pimples, he was self-conscious about his penis. The average penile size for an American male was 5.5 inches. He was just under five and stubby.

Lamis said he fit her perfectly and while he believed her, it still made him uncomfortable when she looked at it in its flaccid form.

It wasn't flaccid now, however, in fact, it was quite the opposite.

"I want some of that," Lamis said thickly.

Laying his hand on one rounded cheek, he took himself in the other and guided it to her hole. She licked her lips, splayed her hands on either side of her, and grabbed the blanket in expectation. "Don't be too hard on me," she said, a worried note in her voice, "okay?"

"I won't," he vowed. Lamis, as any normal woman, occasionally liked to be treated roughly. He had come to appreciate such sex, but in the beginning, he abhorred it. She told him once, exasperated, that he needn't _treat me like I'm made of glass. _His response was, verbatim, _I love you and I don't want to hurt you. _She smiled and stroked his cheek...then leered like a pedophile at a toddler beauty pageant. _I wanna get hurt. _

Very well.

This, however, was a good sight different from conventional coitus. Vaginas, by their very nature, are designed to withstand the pounding that comes with sex. Rectums are not.

Shifting into a more comfortable position, Lester pressed his tip to her opening, and she jumped forward with an _eek _of surprise. A deep frown creased his face and he rubbed a tender circle in the warm flesh of her buttocks. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," she said.

Alright, then. He drew a deep breath, gripped himself tightly, and pushed against her. She closed her eyes and bared her teeth in a grimace of discomfort, and Lester clenched his jaw. She was exceptionally tight and his dick strained for admittance. Lamis's breathing was heavy, irregular, her face rippling at the alien and not entirely pleasant sensation of his tip squeezing to get in. Her body tensed and clamped down on him, shocking a pained hiss from his throat. She lifted her butt higher, like a bitch waiting to be mated, and Lester, holding tighter to increase size and firmness, slid his hips forward. Her anus puckered defensively closed and Lester's head mashed impotently against it. Sweat began to trickle down the back of his neck and embarrassment colored his cheeks. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and redoubled his efforts.

Lamis gritted her teeth, clutched the blankets in hooked talons, and pushed back into him, doing her best to help but achieving very little. Lester swallowed hard, dug his fingers deeper, and thrusted; he bounced off, started to lose his balance, and slapped her butt hard with his free hand to keep from pitching forward. Lamis hummed appreciatively, lifted her head, and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Now _that _I like," she said.

Reaching between his legs, frustrated with himself for not being big enough and hard enough to penetrate her, Lester grabbed his dick, jammed it to her ass hole, and, gritting his teeth, pushed. Lamis lowered her head and shoved herself back. Grunting and perspiring, Lester drew away, then surged forward. His dick finally sank into her, and whipping her head up, Lamis let out a trembling cry. Her body, springy and hot, shuddered around him, and he gasped at the sensation. It was wholly unlike her vagina - tighter and lacking her natural lubrication - and a spasmodic kick went through him. Grabbing her hips, he withdrew to almost the tip, then gradually slid forward again; her muscles danced crazily and her walls wrapped themselves to his shaft as if to strangle him.

Lamis clawed the blankets and panted heavily, each exhalation coming as a broken moan perched on the dividing line of pleasure and pain. Lester slid back, then forward, back then forward, losing himself to friction and dumb desire. Lamis spread her knees, threaded her fingers through her messy hair, and bunched her lips closed to stifle the cries. Every time he rutted into her, his balls slapped her vagina, and pangs of toe curling pleasure went through her. The pain and discomfort slowly melted away, and before long, she slipped her fingers beneath her and started to rub her clit.

Noticing, Lester leaned over, his dick hitting spots she never even knew existed, and brushed her her hand away. She held onto the bed and rocked faster, the joint assault of his rod and his deft fingers masturbating her sending her into the stratosphere. Should she tell him to pull out, or should she let him fill her ass with cum? Logic told her the former, but her burning body and racing heart plead for the latter; she and Lester were both responsible and he always pulled out, so feeling his hot, thick sperm shooting into her was a rare delicacy that she only risked every once in a blue moon, when the passion was so great that she didn't care if they got pregnant.

Lester alternated speeds, rubbing faster, fucking slower, fucking faster, rubbing slower. He was fatally close to his peak and couldn't last much longer. He propelled himself forward, and Lamis's orgasm blindsided her; her body clutched and she let out a hissing "Fuck." Lester's own end welled up from his testiciles, and ripping his hand from her crotch, he grabbed her ass and threw himself into the wall. His dick grew, sealing their bodies together for one blissful moment of total oneness, then he erupted and flooded her ass with semen. She pressed her hands to the headboard and jerked back, taking him to the hilt and sighing with each load he gave her, his creamy heat sweeping through her body and warming her to her very bones. Lester's motions slowed like cogs and drive shafts gradually falling still, then stopped entirely.

They stayed that way for a long moment, panting and conjoined, then he pulled out, crawled next to her, and dropped onto his side. His face was red with exertion and sweat plastered his bangs to his forehead. His cute dick lay against his leg, its tip silvery with his essence. Lamis lay flat on her stomach and winced at the feeling of her closing butt cheeks sploshing his seed tackily between them.

She rolled to her side, threw one leg over Lester's hips, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He burrowed his arm between her and the mattress, circled her, and drew her body to his. She pecked his nose, and laughed at the way his face wrinkled. "Did you like it?" she asked.

"I did," he said and hugged her fiercely. Scrunching her shoulders, and nestled against him, laid her forehead on his, and brushed their noses together. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too, Lamis," he replied, then, after a tentative hesitation, he added, "with all my heart."

They kissed, then, before long, both passed out.

And snored really fucking loud.

THE END.


End file.
